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Historic  Poems  and 
Ballads 


Described  by 
RUPERT  S.  HOLLAND 

Author  of  "Historic  Boyhoods"  "Historic  Girlhoods" 
"Historic  Inventions,"  etc. 


.-..',  •.  .  .'•^  '      ''.*'.:  '•:  '•.' 


« *.  •  •  • 

•  •  •    •  I 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


iAmr.ti 


Copyright,  191 2,  by 

George  W.  Jacobs  &  Company 

Published   October,  jgi2 


•        •    d    •       • 


*     •  •        •  •  « 

•   *  •  *     ■     ^ 


All  rights  reserved 
Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


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NOTE 

The  object  of  this  book  is  to  tell  the  story  of 
many  of  the  stirring  scenes  of  history  through 
famous  poems  and  ballads  and  short  descriptions 
of  each  event.  A  glossary  of  the  more  unusual 
words  used  in  the  poems,  and  an  explanation  of 
the  names  of  persons  and  places,  are  included  at 
the  end  of  the  volume. 

The  selections  from  J,  G.  Whittier,  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson,  and  Bret  Harte  are  used  by  per- 
mission of  Houghton-Mifflin  Company,  author- 
ized publishers  of  their  works,  to  whom  thanks 
are  hereby  extended.  Thanks  are  also  due  to 
Harper  and  Brothers  for  permission  to  use  "  The 
Little  Black-Eyed  Rebel,"  by  Will  Carleton,  and 
"  The  Battle  of  New  Orleans,"  by  Thomas 
Dunn  English,  to  Mr.  Will  Henry  Thompson 
and  the  Century  Company  for  the  use  of  the  for- 
mer's poem,  "  High  Tide  at  Gettysburg,"  and 
to  David  McKay  for  permission  to  use  the  poem 
entitled  "  O  Captain  !  My  Captain  !  "  by  Walt 
Whitman.  "  The  Battle  of  Lexington,"  by  Sid- 
ney Lanier,  appears  by  special  arrangement  with 
Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


Contents 


I. 

The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib 

II 

Lord  Byron 

II. 

HORATIUS     . 

Lord  Macaulay 

• 

•                  • 

.          14 

III. 

The  Skeleton  In  Armor 

• 

• 

•       39 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

IV. 

The  Sea-King's  Burial 
Charles  Mackay 

• 

•                  • 

.      46 

V. 

Bruce  and  the  Spider 
Bernard  Barton 

• 

•                  • 

•      53 

VI. 

Bannockburn     . 
Robert  Rums 

• 

•                  « 

.      56 

VII. 

The  Battle  of  Morgarten 
Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans 

•                  • 

.      58 

VIII. 

Chew-Chase 
Anonymous 

• 

•                  • 

.      64 

IX. 

Ivry  .... 
Lord  Macaulay 

• 

•                  • 

.      75 

X. 

The  "  Revenge  " 
Lord  Tennyson 

• 

•                  « 

.      81 

XI. 

A  Legend  of  Bregenz 
Adelaide  A.  Procter 

• 

•                  • 

.      87 

XII. 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrim 

Fath 

ERS 

.      92 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans 

XIII. 

The  Cavalier's  Escape  . 

• 

• 

•      95 

Walter  Thornbury 


6 

CONTENTS 

XIV. 

Naseby    .... 
Lord  Macaulay 

•                   i 

XV. 

"  Les  Gants  Glaces  " 
Anonymous 

•                   1 

XVI. 

How   They    Brought  the 

Good 

News 

From  Ghent  to  Aix  . 

•                i 

Robert  Browning 

XVII. 

The  Bonnets  of  Bonnie  Dundee     . 

Sir  Walter  Scott 

XVIII. 

Herve  Riel     . 
Robert  Browning 

XIX. 

The  Leak  In  the  Dike  . 

Phoebe  Gary 

XX. 

The  Battle  of  Blenheim 
Robert  Southey 

XXI. 

Lochinvar 

Sir  Walter  Scott 

XXII. 

Battle  of  Fontenoy 
Bartholomew  Dowling 

XXIII. 

Bonnie  Prince  Charlie  . 
James  Hogg 

XXIV. 

Boston     .... 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

XXV. 

Paul  Revere's  Ride 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

XXVI. 

The  Battle  of  Lexington 
Sidney  Lanier 

• 

XXVII. 

Concord  Hymn 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

• 

XXVIII. 

The  Green  Mountain  Boys 
William  Cullen  Bryant 

• 

CONTENTS 

XXIX.       TiCONDEROGA 

V.  B.  Wilson 

XXX.     The  Little  Black.-Eyed  Rebel 
Will  Carleton 

XXXI.     AIoLLY  Maguire  at  Monmouth 
William  Collins 

XXXII.     Song  of  A4arion's  Men 
William  Cullen  Bryant 

XXXIII.  Hail  Columbia     . 

Joseph  Hopkinson 

XXXIV.  Casabianca  . 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans 

XXXV.       HOHENLINDEN 

Thomas  Campbell 

XXXVI.     Battle  of  the  Baltic  . 
Thomas  Campbell 

XXXVII.     An  Incident  of  the  French  Camp 
Robert  Browning 

XXXVIII.     The  Star-Spangled  Banner 
Francis  Scott  Key 

XXXIX.     The  Battle  of  New  Orleans 
Thomas  Dunn  English 

XL.     The  Eve  of  Waterloo 
Lord  Byron 

XLi.     Marco  Bozzaris    . 

Fitz-Greene  Halleck 

XLII.     Ye  Mariners  of  England 
Thomas  Campbell 

XLIII.     Old  Ironsides 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 

XLIV.     America 

Samuel  Francis  Smith 


7 

167 

171 

175 
179 
183 
187 
190 

193 

197 

200 
203 
213 
216 
222 
225 
227 


8 

CONTENTS 

XLV. 

Monterey 

Charles  Fenno  HofFiuan 

t 

XLVI. 

The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade 
Lord  Tennyson 

XLVII. 

The  Relief  of  Lucknow 
Robert  Trail  Spence  Lowell 

XLVIII. 

Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic 
Julia  Ward  Howe 

XLIX. 

Dixie's  Land 

Dan  Emmett 

L. 

Dixie 

Albert  Pike 

LI. 

My  Maryland 

James  Ryder  Randall 

UI. 

The  Cumberland    . 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

LIII. 

Stonewall  Jackson's  Way 
John  Williamson  Palmer 

LIV. 

Barbara  Frietchie 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

LV. 

High  Tide  at  Gettysburg 
Will  Henry  Thompson 

LVI. 

John  Burns  of  Gettysburg     . 
Bret  Harte 

LVII. 

Sheridan's  Ride       .... 
Thomas  Buchanan  Read 

LVIII. 

Marching  Through  Georgia 
Henry  Clay  Work 

LIX. 

O  Captain  !     My  Captain  !  . 
Walt  Whitman 

LX. 

Saxon  Grit     .... 
Robert  CoUyer 

Glossary           .... 

References  to  Names 

Illustrations 


Charge  of  the  Scotch  Greys  at  Waterloo 
Horatius  at  the  Bridge 
Chevy-Chase  .... 
Ivry 

The  Landing  of  the  Pilgrims 

The  Battle  of  Fontenoy     . 

The  Battle  of  Lexington   .  , 

The  Capture  of  Fort  Ticonderoga 

Mollic  Pitcher  at  the  Battle  of  Monmouth 

Marion  and  His  Men        . 

The  Battle  of  New  Orleans 

The  "  Constitution  "  and  the  "  Guerriere  " 

Storming  of  Palace  Hill  at  Battle  of  Monterey 

The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade 

The  Relief  of  Lucknow     .... 

The  "  Merrimac  "  and  the  "  Monitor" 


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I 

The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib 

Sennacherib  was  King  of  Assyria  from  705  B.  c.  to 
681  B.  C.  He  was  a  very  proud  and  warlike  ruler,  but 
also  a  great  builder,  and  during  his  reign  Assyria 
became  famous  for  her  art  and  architecture.  He 
seized  and  destroyed  Babylon,  conquered  Chaldea, 
and  marched  into  Egypt.  City  after  city  of  Judah  fell 
before  his  arms,  and  Hezekiah,  Prince  of  Judah,  was 
forced  to  retreat  into  Jerusalem.  The  Assyrian  king 
pursued,  wasting  the  land  with  fire  and  sword,  and 
taking  the  people  for  slaves.  As  Sennacherib  swept 
up  to  Jerusalem  the  Prince  of  Judah  tried  to  ransom 
his  city  with  gold,  but  the  invader  would  not  listen  to 
his  offer,  and  prepared  to  attack  the  walls.  Then  sud- 
denly a  plague  fell  upon  the  great  Assyrian  host.  It  is 
said  that  185,000  men  died  in  a  single  night.  The  rest, 
terrified  at  what  seemed  retribution  for  their  destruction 
of  Babylon,  fled  in  a  panic,  pursued  by  their  enemies. 
The  king  himself  escaped,  but  was  killed  in  681  B.  C.  in 
the  temple  at  Nineveh  by  two  of  his  sons. 

Byron  wrote  a  number  of  poems  dealing  with  Hebrew 
history,  and  this  is  one  of  the  most  spirited  of  them.  It 
describes  how  the  great  Assyrian  army,  flushed  with 
scores  of  victories,  came  to  Jerusalem,  ready  to  conquer 
on  the  morrow.     That  night  came  the  plague,  and  the 


12  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

army  melted  away  before  its  breath.  The  widows  of 
Ashur,  which  means  Assyria,  bewailed  the  lost  soldiers, 
and  the  priests  who  tended  the  altars  of  the  god  Baal 
broke  the  idols  in  despair,  for  the  Gentiles,  or  heathens, 
who  had  been  so  powerful  before,  had  fallen,  not  by 
men's  swords,  but  at  the  will  of  the  God  of  Jerusalem. 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  SENNACHERIB 

By  George  Gordon  Noel,  Lord  Byron 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold, 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold  ; 
And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars  on  the  sea, 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  summer  is  green, 
That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset  were  seen  ; 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  autumn  hath  flown, 
That  host  on  the  morrow  lay  withered  and  strown. 

For  the  angel  of  death  spread  his  wings  on  the  blast, 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  passed  ; 
And  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  waxed  deadly  and  chill, 
And  their  hearts  but  once  heaved,  and  forever  grew  still ! 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostril  all  wide. 
But  through  it  there  rolled  not  the  breath  of  his  pride ; 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on  the  turf, 
And  cold  as  the  spray  of  the  rock-beating  surf. 

And  there  lay  the  rider  distorted  and  pale, 
With  the  dew  on  his  brow  and  the  rust  on  his  mail; 
And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners  alone, 
The  lances  unlifted,  the  trumpet  unblown. 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  SENNACHERIB      13 

And  the  widows  of  Ashur  are  loud  in  their  wail ; 
And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal ; 
And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by  the  sword, 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the  Lord  ! 


II 

Horatius 

This  poem  gives  such  a  true  picture  of  the  patriotic 
spirit  of  a  citizen  of  early  Rome,  and  follows  the  metre 
of  many  Latin  poets  so  closely  that  it  might  well  have 
been  what  Macaulay  pretended  it  was,  a  lay  actually 
written  about  three  hundred  and  sixty  years  after  the 
founding  of  Rome,  or  in  393  B.  C. 

At  that  time  the  most  powerful  chief  in  Italy  was 
Lars  Porsena,  of  Etruria,  whose  capital  city  was 
Clusium,  which  was  some  ninety  miles  to  the  north- 
west of  Rome.  Etruria  was  the  home  of  the  twelve 
Etruscan  tribes,  and  lay  to  the  north  and  west  of  Rome, 
separated  from  that  city  by  the  river  Tiber.  Among 
the  Etruscans  the  word  Lars  meant  lord  or  chief.  Like 
the  Romans  the  Etruscans  had  a  number  of  gods,  to 
each  of  whom  they  ascribed  different  attributes,  as  the 
Romans  did  to  Jupiter,  Minerva,  Mars,  and  their  other 
deities. 

Rome  had  been  a  kingdom  at  one  time,  and  its  kings 
had  come  from  the  house  of  Tarquin.  But  Tarquin  the 
Proud  had  ruled  so  tyrannously,  and  his  son,  "  false 
Sextus,"  had  committed  so  vile  a  crime,  that  the  people 
had  overthrown  his  power  and  driven  Tarquin  from  the 
city  in  505  B.  C.  He  had  sought  aid  from  Lars  Porsena, 
and  that  chief,  already  jealous  of  Rome's  prosperity, 


HORATIUS  15 

determined  to  raise  a  great  army  and  replace  Tarquin 
on  his  throne. 

The  Etruscan  chieftain  sent  out  his  messengers,  and 
soon  had  gathered  allies  from  the  twelve  tribes.  They 
came  from  all  central  Italy,  from  the  fastnesses  of  the 
Apennine  Mountains,  from  the  city  of  Volaterrse  whose 
citadel  was  made  of  huge  uncemented  boulders,  from 
Populonia,  opposite  the  island  of  Sardinia,  from  the 
busy  city  of  Pisa,  in  whose  harbor  were  triremes,  or 
ships  with  triple-banks  of  oars,  belonging  to  the  colony 
of  Massilia  in  Gaul,  from  the  country  watered  by  the 
river  Clanis,  and  from  the  many-towered  city  of  Cortona. 
The  woodmen  left  the  forests  that  lay  along  the  river 
Auser,  the  hunters  deserted  the  stags  of  the  Ciminian 
hill  in  Etruria,  the  herdsmen  forsook  the  milk-white 
cattle  that  browsed  on  the  banks  of  the  stream  Clitum- 
nus.  The  Volsinian  lake  was  left  in  peace  to  its  water 
fowl,  old  men  reaped  the  harvests  in  Arretium,  young 
boys  cared  for  the  sheep-shearing  along  the  Umbro, 
and  in  the  city  of  Luna  girls  pressed  the  grapes  in  the 
wine-vats  while  their  fathers  joined  the  march  to 
Rome. 

Meantime  Lars  Porsena  took  counsel  with  his  sooth- 
sayers, and  they  consulted  the  books,  in  which  was 
supposed  to  be  written,  from  right  to  left,  according  to 
the  Etruscan  fashion,  the  future  of  that  nation.  The 
thirty  wise  men  assured  him  that  he  would  conquer 
and  bring  back  to  his  own  capital  the  shields  of  Rome. 

The  great  army  of  Etruscans,  80,000  footmen  and 
10,000  horsemen,  gathered  before  the  gates  of  Sutrium. 
Enemies  of  Rome,  men  who  had  been  banished  from 


i6  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

that  city,  and  Mamilius,  Prince  of  Latium,  a  country 
south  of  Rome,  came  to  join  the  soldiers  of  Etruria. 

In  Rome  there  was  great  dismay.  The  farmers  who 
lived  in  the  open  country  drove  their  cattle,  and  carried 
their  household  goods,  inside  the  city  walls.  From  the 
high  Tarpeian  Rock  the  people  could  see  the  blazing 
towns  fired  by  Lars  Porsena  on  his  march.  The  Senate 
of  the  city  sat  night  and  day,  and  every  hour  new  mes- 
sengers arrived  with  word  of  the  enemy's  advance. 
As  they  advanced  the  Etruscans  destroyed  all  hostile 
settlements,  they  leveled  Crustumerium,  a  town  in  the 
Sabine  country  that  belonged  to  Rome  ;  Verbenna,  one 
of  their  generals,  swept  across  to  the  port  of  Ostia,  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Tiber;  and  Astur,  another  leader, 
captured  the  fortified  hill  of  Janiculum  that  lay  across 
the  Tiber  to  the  west  of  Rome.  That  hill  commanded 
the  only  bridge  that  spanned  the  river,  and  if  the 
Etruscans  should  seize  it  they  would  probably  soon 
break  a  way  into  the  city. 

The  Consul,  who  was  one  of  the  chief  officers  of 
Rome,  ordered  the  bridge  destroyed,  but  at  the  same 
moment  a  messenger  brought  word  that  Lars  Porsena 
was  in  sight.  The  Consul  looked  and  saw  the  glitter- 
ing line  of  spears  and  helmets,  the  banners  of  the  twelve 
chief  cities  of  Etruria,  and  the  leaders  themselves. 

The  Consul  saw  that  the  enemy  were  so  close  that 
their  vanguard  would  prevent  the  Romans  destroying 
the  bridge  in  time.  But  even  as  he  said  this  Horatius, 
the  Captain  of  the  Gate,  stepped  forward,  and  volun- 
teered to  hold  the  enemy  in  check,  if  two  others  would 
fight   beside   him.     Instantly  two   brave  men   offered 


ffl-;r;:;<'iiiirgi^sij;gm;|jiPf"''''^^ 


HORATIUS   AT  Tlir.   P.RIDOE 


HORATIUS  i; 

to  go  forth,  the  one  Spurius  Lartius,  and  the  other 
Herminius. 

The  three  Romans  armed  and  stepped  forward  to 
the  other  bank  of  the  Tiber,  while  the  Consul,  the  City 
Fathers,  and  citizens  seized  hatchets  and  crowbars, 
and  began  to  loosen  the  supports  of  the  bridge. 

The  Etruscan  army  saw  the  three  Romans  standing 
at  the  head  of  the  bridge,  and  thought  it  would  be  a 
simple  matter  to  overcome  them.  Three  chiefs  rushed 
forward,  only  to  fall  before  the  swords  of  Horatius  and 
his  allies.  More  tried  it,  and  more,  but  each  in  turn 
met  the  same  fate  before  the  Romans.  At  last  the 
great  Etruscan  army  stood  at  bay. 

Time  had  been  gained  for  the  people  to  destroy  the 
props  of  the  bridge.  As  it  began  to  fall,  the  Romans 
called  to  their  three  defenders.  Spurius  Lartius  and 
Herminius  dashed  back,  but  Horatius  was  left  on  the 
other  shore  when  the  bridge  crashed  into  the  river. 

Horatius  would  not  yield,  but  with  a  prayer  to  Father 
Tiber  plunged  into  the  stream.  While  all  eyes  watched 
him  he  swam  to  the  Roman  bank.  There  the  people 
raised  him  on  their  shoulders  and  carried  him  in  triumph 
through  the  city  gates. 

Rome  gave  its  hero  a  section  of  the  public  lands, 
and  built  a  statue  of  him  in  the  Forum.  The  story  of 
how  Horatius  held  the  bridge  became  one  of  the  great 
chronicles  of  Rome. 

Macaulay's  greatest  work  was  his  "  History  of  Eng- 
land." His  poems  were  written  as  recreation  from 
heavier  work,  but  in  "Horatius"  he  composed  one  of 
the  most  vivid  and  stirring  historical   poems  in   the 


1 8  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

English  language.  It  is  a  remarkable  example  of  the 
power  of  direct  narrative,  and  gains  much  of  its  force 
from  the  short,  simple  words  and  plain  recital  of  events 
as  if  seen  by  the  narrator. 


HORATIUS 

By  Thomas  Babbingion,  Lord  Macaulay 

(A  Lay  made  about  the  Year  of  the  City  CCCLX.) 

I 
Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium 

By  the  Nine  Gods  he  swore 
That  the  great  house  of  Tarquin 
Should  suffer  wrong  no  more. 
By  the  Nine  Gods  he  swore  it, 
And  named  a  trysting  day, 
And  bade  his  messengers  ride  forth, 
East  and  west  and  south  and  north, 
To  summon  his  array. 

II 

East  and  west  and  south  and  north 

The  messengers  ride  fast, 
And  tower  and  town  and  cottage 

Have  heard  the  trumpet's  blast. 
Shame  on  the  false  Etruscan 

Who  lingers  in  his  home 
When  Porsena  of  Clusium 

Is  on  the  march  for  Rome. 

Ill 

The  horsemen  and  the  footmen 

Are  pouring  in  amain, 
From  many  a  stately  market-place; 

From  many  a  fruitful  plain ; 


HORATIUS  19 

From  many  a  lonely  hamlet, 

Which,  hid  by  beech  and  pine, 
Like  an  eagle's  nest,  hangs  on  the  crest 

Of  purple  Apennine ; 

IV 

From  lordly  Volaterrse, 

Where  scowls  the  far-famed  hold 
Piled  by  the  hands  of  giants 

For  godlike  kings  of  old ; 
From  sea-girt  Populonia, 

Whose  sentinels  descry 
Sardinia's  snowy  mountain-tops 

Fringing  the  southern  sky ; 

V 

From  the  proud  mart  of  Pisae, 

Queen  of  the  western  waves, 
Where  ride  Massilia's  triremes 

Heavy  with  fair-haired  slaves ; 
From  where  sweet  Clanis  wanders 

Through  corn  and  vines  and  flowers; 
From  where  Cortona  lifts  to  heaven 

Her  diadem  of  towers. 

VI 
Tall  are  the  oaks  whose  acorns 

Drop  in  dark  Auser's  rill; 
Fat  are  the  stags  that  champ  the  boughs 

Of  the  Ciminian  hill ; 
Beyond  all  streams  Clitumnus 

Is  to  the  herdsman  dear ; 
Best  of  all  pools  the  fowler  loves 

The  great  Volsinian  mere. 


20  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

VII 

But  now  no  stroke  of  woodman 

Is  heard  by  Auser's  rill ;  ' 

No  hunter  tracks  the  stag's  green  path 

Up  the  Ciniinian  hill ; 
Unwatched  along  Clitumnus 

Grazes  the  milk-white  steer ; 
Unharmed  the  water  fowl  may  dip 

In  the  Volsinian  mere. 

VIII 
The  harvests  of  Arretium, 

This  year,  old  men  shall  reap, 
This  year,  young  boys  in  Urabro 

Shall  plunge  the  struggling  sheep ; 
And  in  the  vats  of  Luna, 

This  year,  the  must  shall  foam 
Round  the  white  feet  of  laughing  girls 

Whose  sires  have  marched  to  Rome. 

IX 

There  be  thirty  chosen  prophets, 

The  wisest  of  the  land. 
Who  alway  by  Lars  Porsena 

Both  morn  and  evening  stand  : 
Evening  and  morn  the  Thirty 

Have  turned  the  verses  o'er. 
Traced  from  the  right  on  linen  white 

By  mighty  seers  of  yore. 

X 
And  with  one  voice  the  Thirty 
Have  their  glad  answer  given  ; 
"Go  forth,  go  forth,  Lars  Porsena; 
Go  forth,  beloved  of  Heaven ; 


HORATIUS  21 

Go,  and  return  in  glory 

To  Clusium's  royal  dome ; 
And  hang  round  Nursia's  altars 

The  golden  shields  of  Rome." 

XI 

And  now  hath  every  city 

Sent  up  her  tale  of  men ; 
The  foot  are  fourscore  thousand, 

The  horse  are  thousands  ten. 
Before  the  gates  of  Sutrium 

Is  met  the  great  array. 
A  proud  man  was  Lars  Porsena 

Upon  the  trysting  day. 

XII 

For  all  the  Etruscan  armies 

Were  ranged  beneath  his  eye, 
And  many  a  banished  Roman, 

And  many  a  stout  ally  ; 
And  with  a  mighty  following 

To  join  the  muster  came 
The  Tusculan  Mamilius, 

Prince  of  the  Latian  name. 

XIII 
But  by  the  yellow  Tiber 

Was  tumult  and  affright  : 
From  all  the  spacious  champaign 

To  Rome  men  took  their  flight. 
A  mile  around  the  city, 

The  throng  stopped  up  the  ways ; 
A  fearful  sight  it  was  to  see 

Through  two  long  nights  and  days. 


22  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

XIV 
For  droves  of  mules  and  asses 

Laden  with  skins  of  wine, 
And  endless  flocks  of  goats  and  sheep, 

And  endless  herds  of  kine, 
And  endless  trains  of  wagons 

That  creaked  beneath  the  weight 
Of  corn-sacks  and  of  household  goods, 

Choked  every  roaring  gate. 

XV 
Now,  from  the  rock  Tarpeian, 

Could  the  wan  burghers  spy 
The  line  of  blazing  villages 

Red  in  the  midnight  sky. 
The  Fathers  of  the  City, 

They  sat  all  night  and  day, 
For  every  hour  some  horseman  came 

With  tidings  of  dismay. 

XVI 
To  eastward  and  to  westward 

Have  spread  the  Tuscan  bands ; 
Nor  house,  nor  fence,  nor  dovecot 

In  Crustumerium  stands. 
Verbenna  down  to  Ostia 

Hath  wasted  all  the  plain  ; 
Astur  hath  stormed  Janiculum, 

And  the  stout  guards  are  slain. 

XVII 
I  wis,  in  all  the  Senate, 

There  was  no  heart  so  bold. 
But  sore  it  ached,  and  fast  it  beat, 

When  that  ill  news  was  told. 


HORATIUS  '  23 

Forthwith  up  rose  the  Consul, 

Up  rose  the  Fathers  all ; 
In  haste  they  girded  up  their  gowns, 

And  hied  them  to  the  wall. 


XVIII 
They  held  a  council  standing 

Before  the  River-Gate ; 
Short  time  was  there,  ye  well  may  guess, 

For  musing  or  debate. 
Out  spake  the  Consul  roundly  : 

"  The  bridge  must  straight  go  down ; 
For,  since  Janiculum  is  lost. 

Naught  else  can  save  the  town." 


XIX 
Just  then  a  scout  came  flying. 
All  wild  with  haste  and  fear : 
"  To  arms  !  to  arms  !  Sir  Consul : 
Lars  Porsena  is  here." 
On  the  low  hills  to  westward 
The  Consul  fixed  his  eye, 
And  saw  the  swarthy  storm  of  dust 
Rise  fast  along  the  sky. 


XX 

And  nearer  fast  and  nearer 

Doth  the  red  whirlwind  come ; 
And  louder  still  and  still  more  loud, 
From  underneath  that  rolling  cloud, 
Is  heard  the  trumpet's  war-note  proud, 

The  trampling  and  the  hum. 
And  plainly  and  more  plainly 


24  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Now  through  the  gloom  appears, 
Far  to  left  and  far  to  right, 
In  broken  gleams  of  dark-blue  light, 
The  long  array  of  helmets  bright, 

The  long  array  of  spears. 

XXI 

And  plainly  and  more  plainly, 

Above  that  glimmering  line. 
Now  might  ye  see  the  banners 

Of  twelve  fair  cities  shine ; 
But  the  banner  of  proud  Clusium 

Was  highest  of  them  all, 
The  terror  of  the  Umbrian, 

The  terror  of  the  Gaul. 

XXII 

And  plainly  and  more  plainly 

Now  might  the  burghers  know. 
By  port  and  vest,  by  horse  and  crest, 

Each  warlike  Lucumo. 
There  Cilnius  of  Arretium 

On  his  fleet  roan  was  seen ; 
And  Astur  of  the  fourfold  shield. 
Girt  with  the  brand  none  else  may  wield, 
Tolumnius  with  the  belt  of  gold, 
And  dark  Verbenna  from  the  hold 

By  reedy  Thrasymene. 

XXIII 
Fast  by  the  royal  standard, 

O'erlooking  all  the  war, 
Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium 

Sat  in  his  ivory  car. 


HORATIUS  25 

By  the  right  wheel  rode  Mamilius, 

Prince  of  the  Latian  name ; 
And  by  the  left  false  Sextus, 

That  wrought  the  deed  of  shame. 

XXIV 
But  when  the  face  of  Sextus 

Was  seen  among  the  foes, 
A  yell  that  rent  the  firmament 

From  all  the  town  arose. 
On  the  housetops  was  no  woman 

But  spat  towards  him  and  hissed, 
No  child  but  screamed  out  curses, 

And  shook  its  little  fist. 

XXV 
But  the  Consul's  brow  was  sad. 

And  the  Consul's  speech  was  low, 
And  darkly  looked  he  at  the  wall, 
And  darkly  at  the  foe. 
"Their  van  will  be  upon  us 

Before  the  bridge  goes  down  ; 
And  if  they  once  may  win  the  bridge, 
What  hope  to  save  the  town  ?  " 

XXVI 
Then  out  spake  brave  Horatius, 
The  Captain  of  the  Gate  : 
"  To  every  man  upon  this  earth 
Death  comelh  soon  or  late. 
And  how  can  man  die  better 
Than  facing  fearful  odds, 
For  the  ashes  of  his  fathers, 
And  the  temples  of  his  Gods, 


26  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

XXVII 
"And  for  the  tender  mother 
Who  dandled  him  to  rest, 
And  for  the  wife  who  nurses 

His  baby  at  her  breast, 
And  for  the  holy  maidens 

Who  feed  the  eternal  flame, 
To  save  them  from  false  Sextus 
That  wrought  the  deed  of  shame  ? 

XXVIII 
**  Hew  down  the  bridge,  Sir  Consul, 
With  all  the  speed  ye  may ; 
I,  with  two  more  to  help  me, 

Will  hold  the  foe  in  play. 
In  yon  strait  path  a  thousand 

May  well  be  stopped  by  three. 
Now  who  will  stand  on  either  hand, 
And  keep  the  bridge  with  me?" 

XXIX 
Then  out  spake  Spurius  Lartius; 
A  Ramnian  proud  was  he : 
"  Lo,  I  will  stand  at  thy  right  hand, 
And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee." 
And  out  spake  strong  Herminius; 
Of  Titian  blood  was  he  : 
"  I  will  abide  on  thy  left  side, 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  thee." 

XXX 

"  Horatius,"  quoth  the  Consul, 

"  As  thou  sayest,  so  let  it  be." 

And  straight  against  that  great  array 

Forth  went  the  dauntless  Three. 


HORATIUS  27 

For  Romans  in  Rome's  quarrel 

Spared  neither  land  nor  gold, 
Nor  son  nor  wife,  nor  limb  nor  life, 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

XXXI 

Then  none  was  for  a  party ; 

Then  all  were  for  the  state ; 
Then  the  great  man  helped  the  poor, 

And  the  poor  man  loved  the  great : 
Then  lands  were  fairly  portioned  ; 

Then  spoils  were  fairly  sold  : 
The  Romans  were  like  brothers 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

XXXII 
Now  Roman  is  to  Roman 

More  hateful  than  a  foe, 
And  the  Tribunes  beard  the  high, 

And  the  Fathers  grind  the  low. 
As  we  wax  hot  in  faction, 

In  battle  we  wax  cold  : 
Wherefore  men  fight  not  as  they  fought 

In  the  brave  da)s  of  old. 

XXXIII 
Now  while  the  Three  were  tightening 

Their  harness  on  their  backs, 
The  Consul  was  the  foremost  man 

To  take  in  hand  an  axe : 
And  Fathers  mixed  with  Commons, 

Seized  hatchet,  bar,  and  crow. 
And  smote  uyxjn  the  planks  above, 

And  loosed  the  props  below. 


28  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

XXXIV 
Meanwhile  the  Tuscan  army, 

Right  glorious  to  behold, 
Came  flashing  back  the  noonday  light, 
Rank  behind  rank,  like  surges  bright 

Of  a  broad  sea  of  gold. 
Four  hundred  trumpets  sounded 

A  peal  of  warlike  glee. 
As  that  great  host,  with  measured  tread, 
And  spears  advanced,  and  ensigns  spread, 
Rolled  slowly  towards  the  bridge's  head. 

Where  stood  the  dauntless  Three. 

XXXV 
The  Three  stood  calm  and  silent, 

And  looked  upon  the  foes. 
And  a  great  shout  of  laughter 

From  all  the  vanguard  rose : 
And  forth  three  chiefs  came  spurring 

Before  that  deep  array ; 
To  earth  they  sprang,  their  swords  they  drew 
And  lifted  high  their  shields,  and  flew 

To  win  the  narrow  way ; 

XXXVI 

Annus  from  green  Tifernum, 

Lord  of  the  Hill  of  Vines ; 
And  Seius,  whose  eight  hundred  slaves 

Sicken  in  Ilva's  mines ; 
And  Picus,  long  to  Clusium 

Vassal  in  peace  and  war, 
Who  led  to  fight  his  Umbrian  powers 
From  that  gray  crag  where,  girt  with  towers, 
The  fortress  of  Nequinum  lowers 

O'er  the  pale  waves  of  Nar. 


HORATIUS  29 

xxxvii 
Stout  Lartius  hurled  down  Aunus 

Into  the  stream  beneath  : 
Herminius  struck  at  Seius, 

And  clove  him  to  the  teeth : 
At  Pious  brave  Horatius 

Darted  one  fiery  thrust ; 
And  the  proud  Umbrian's  gilded  arms 

Clashed  in  the  bloody  dust. 

XXXVIII 
Then  Ocnus  of  Falerii 

Rushed  on  the  Roman  Three ; 
And  Lausulus  of  Urgo, 

The  Rover  of  the  sea ; 
And  Aruns  of  Volsinium, 

Who  slew  the  great  wild  boar, 
The  great  wild  boar  that  had  his  den 
Amidst  the  reeds  of  Cosa's  fen, 
And  wasted  fields,  and  slaughtered  men, 

Along  Albinia's  shore. 

XXXIX 

Herminius  smote  down  Aruns : 

Lartius  laid  Ocnus  low  : 
Right  to  the  heart  of  Lausulus 

Horatius  sent  a  blow. 
"  Lie  there,"  he  cried,  "fell  pirate! 

No  more,  aghast  and  pale, 
From  Ostia's  walls  the  crowd  shall  mark 
The  track  of  thy  destroying  bark. 
No  more  Camijania's  hinds  shall  fly 
To  woods  and  caverns  when  they  spy 

Thy  thrice  accursed  sail." 


30  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

XL 

But  now  no  sound  of  laughter 

Was  heard  among  the  foes. 
A  wild  and  wrathful  clamor 

From  all  the  vanguard  rose. 
Six  spears'  length  from  the  entrance 

Halted  that  deep  array, 
And  for  a  space  no  man  came  forth 

To  win  the  narrow  way. 

XLI 

But  hark !  the  cry  is  Astur : 

And  lo  !  the  ranks  divide; 
And  the  great  Lord  of  Luna 

Comes  with  his  stately  stride. 
Upon  his  ample  shoulders 

Clangs  loud  the  fourfold  shield, 
And  in  his  hand  he  shakes  the  brand 

Which  none  but  he  can  wield. 

XLII 
He  smiled  on  those  bold  Romans 

A  smile  serene  and  high  ; 
He  eyed  the  flinching  Tuscans, 

And  scorn  was  in  his  eye. 
Quoth  he,  "  The  she-wolf's  litter 

Stand  savagely  at  bay  : 
But  will  ye  dare  to  follow. 

If  Astur  clears  the  way  ?  " 

XLIII 
Then,  whirling  up  his  broadsword 

With  both  hands  to  the  height, 
He  rushed  against  Horatius, 

And  smote  with  all  his  might. 
With  shield  and  blade  Horatius 


HORATIUS  31 

Right  deftly  turned  the  blow. 
The  blow,  though  turned,  came  yet  too  nigh ; 
It  missed  his  helm,  but  gashed  his  thigh  : 
The  Tuscans  raised  a  joyful  cry 

To  see  the  red  blood  flow. 

XLIV 
He  reeled,  and  on  Herminius 

He  leaned  one  breathing-space ; 
Then,  like  a  wildcat  mad  with  wounds, 

Sprang  right  at  Astur's  face. 
Through  teeth,  and  skull,  and  helmet 

So  fierce  a  thrust  he  sped. 
The  good  sword  stood  a  hand-breadth  out 

Behind  the  Tuscan's  head. 

XLV 
And  the  great  Lord  of  Luna 

Fell  at  that  deadly  stroke 
As  falls  on  Mount  Alvernus 

A  thunder-smitten  oak. 
Far  o'er  the  crashing  forest 

The  giant  arms  lie  spread  ; 
And  the  pale  augurs,  muttering  low, 

Gaze  on  the  blasted  head, 

XLVI 
On  Astur's  throat  Horatius 

Right  firmly  pressed  his  heel, 
And  thrice  and  four  times  tugged  amain 
Ere  he  wrenched  out  the  steel. 
<' And  see,"  he  cried,  "the  welcome. 
Fair  guests,  that  waits  you  here  ! 
What  noble  Lucumo  comes  next 
To  taste  our  Roman  cheer?  " 


32  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

XL  VI I 
But  at  this  haughty  challenge 

A  sullen  murmur  ran, 
Mingled  of  wrath,  and  shame,  and  dread, 

Along  that  glittering  van. 
There  lacked  not  men  of  prowess, 

Nor  men  of  lordly  race ; 
For  all  Etruria's  noblest 

Were  round  the  fatal  place. 


XLVIII 
But  all  Etruria's  noblest 

Felt  their  hearts  sink  to  see 
On  the  earth  the  bloody  corpses. 

In  the  patli  tlie  dauntless  Three : 
And,  from  the  ghastly  entrance 

Where  those  bold  Romans  stood. 
All  shrank,  like  boys  who  unaware. 
Ranging  the  woods  to  start  a  hare. 
Come  to  the  mouth  of  the  dark  lair 
Where,  growling  low,  a  fierce  old  bear 

Lies  amidst  bones  and  blood. 


XLIX 
Was  none  who  would  be  foremost 

To  lead  such  dire  attack : 
But  those  behind  cried  "  Forward  !  " 

And  those  before  cried  "  Back  !  " 
And  backward  now  and  forward 

Wavers  the  deep  array ; 
And  on  the  tossing  sea  of  steel, 
To  and  fro  the  standards  reel ; 
And  the  victorious  trumpet-peal 

Dies  fitfully  away. 


HORATIUS  33 

L 

Yet  one  man  for  one  moment 

Stood  out  before  the  crowd  ; 
Well  known  was  he  to  all  the  Three, 

And  they  gave  him  greeting  loud, 
"  Now  welcome,  welcome,  Sextus  ! 

Now  welcome  to  thy  home  ! 
Why  dost  thou  stay,  and  turn  away  ? 

Here  lies  the  road  to  Rome." 

LI 

Thrice  looked  he  at  the  city  ; 

Thrice  looked  he  at  the  dead  ; 
And  thrice  came  on  in  fury, 

And  thrice  turned  back  in  dread : 
And,  white  with  fear  and  hatred, 

Scowled  at  the  narrow  way 
Where,  wallowing  in  a  pool  of  blood. 

The  bravest  Tuscans  lay, 

LII 

But  meanwhile  axe  and  lever 
Have  manfully  been  plied  ; 
And  now  the  bridge  hangs  tottering 
Above  the  boiling  tide. 
"  Come  back,  come  back,  Horatius  !  " 

Loud  cried  the  Fathers  all. 
"Back,  Lartius  !  back,  Herminius  ! 
Back,  ere  the  ruin  fall !  " 

LIII 
Back  darted  Spurius  Lartius  ; 

Ilcrminius  darted  back : 
And,  as  they  passed,  beneath  their  feet 

They  felt  the  timbers  crack. 


34  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

But  when  they  turned  their  faces, 

And  on  the  farther  shore 
Saw  brave  Horatius  stand  alone, 

They  would  have  crossed  once  more. 

LIV 
But  with  a  crash  like  thunder 

Fell  every  loosened  beam, 
And,  like  a  dam,  the  mighty  wreck 

Lay  right  athwart  the  stream  : 
And  a  long  shout  of  triumph 

Rose  from  the  walls  of  Rome, 
As  to  the  highest  turret-tops 

Was  splashed  the  yellow  foam. 

LV 
And,  like  a  horse  unbroken 

When  first  he  feels  the  rein. 
The  furious  river  struggled  hard, 

And  tossed  his  tawny  mane. 
And  burst  the  curb,  and  bounded, 

Rejoicing  to  be  free, 
And  whirling  down,  in  fierce  career, 
Battlement,  and  plank,  and  pier, 

Rushed  headlong  to  the  sea. 

LVI 
Alone  stood  brave  Horatius, 
But  constant  still  in  mind ; 
Thrice  thirty  thousand  foes  before, 
And  the  broad  flood  behind. 
"Down  with  him  !  "  cried  false  Sextus, 

With  a  smile  on  his  pale  face. 
"Now  yield  thee,"  cried  Lars  Porsena, 
"  Now  yield  thee  to  our  grace." 


HORATIUS  35 

LVII 
Round  turned  he,  as  not  deigning 

Those  craven  ranks  to  see; 
Nought  spake  he  to  Lars  Porsena, 

To  Sextus  nought  spake  he ; 
But  he  saw  on  Palatinus 

The  white  porch  of  his  home ; 
And  he  spake  to  the  noble  river 

That  rolls  by  the  towers  of  Rome. 

LVIII 
*•  O  Tiber  !  Father  Tiber  ! 

To  whom  the  Romans  pray, 
A  Roman's  life,  a  Roman's  arms. 
Take  thou  in  charge  this  day  !  " 
So  he  spake,  and  speaking  sheathed 

The  good  sword  by  his  side, 
And  with  his  harness  on  his  back, 
Plunged  headlong  in  the  tide. 
LIX 

No  sound  of  joy  or  sorrow 

Was  heard  from  either  bank ; 
But  friends  and  foes  in  dumb  surprise, 
With  parted  lips  and  straining  eyes. 

Stood  gazing  where  he  sank  ; 
And  when  above  the  surges 

They  saw  his  crest  appear. 
All  Rome  sent  forth  a  rapturous  cry, 
And  even  the  ranks  of  Tuscany 

Could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer. 

LX 
But  fiercely  ran  the  current, 

Swollen  high  by  months  of  rain  : 
And  fast  his  blood  was  flowing ; 

And  he  was  sore  in  pain, 


36  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

And  heavy  with  his  armor, 

And  spent  with  changing  blows : 

And  oft  they  thought  him  sinking, 
But  still  again  he  rose. 


LXI 
Never,  I  ween,  did  swimmer, 

In  such  an  evil  case, 
Struggle  through  such  a  raging  flood 

Safe  to  the  landing  place  : 
But  his  limbs  were  borne  up  bravely 

By  the  brave  heart  within. 
And  our  good  father  Tiber 

Bore  bravely  up  his  chin. 

LXII 
"Curse  on  him  !  "  quoth  false  Sextus; 
"  Will  not  the  villain  drown  ? 
But  for  this  stay,  ere  close  of  day 
We  should  have  sacked  the  town  !" 
♦'  Heaven  help  him  !  "  quoth  Lars  Porsena, 
"And  bring  him  safe  to  shore; 
For  such  a  gallant  feat  of  arms 
Was  never  seen  before." 

LXIII 

And  now  he  feels  the  bottom ; 

Now  on  dry  earth  he  stands ; 
Now  round  him  throng  the  Fathers 

To  press  his  gory  hands  ; 
And  now,  with  shouts  and  clapping, 

And  noise  of  weeping  loud, 
He  enters  through  the  River-Gate, 

Borne  by  the  joyous  crowd. 


HORATIUS  37 

LXIV 
They  gave  him  of  the  corn-land, 

That  was  of  public  right, 
As  much  as  two  strong  oxen 

Could  plough  from  morn  till  night ; 
And  they  made  a  molten  image, 

And  set  it  up  on  high, 
And  there  it  stands  unto  this  day 

To  witness  if  I  lie. 

LXV 

It  Stands  in  the  Comitium, 

Plain  for  all  folk  to  see ; 
Horatius  in  his  harness. 

Halting  upon  one  knee  : 
And  underneath  is  written, 

In  letters  all  of  gold, 
How  valiantly  he  kept  the  bridge 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

LXV  I 
And  still  his  name  sounds  stirring 

Unto  the  men  of  Rome, 
As  the  trumpet-blast  that  cries  to  them 

To  charge  the  Volscian  home ; 
And  wives  still  pray  to  Juno 

For  boys  with  hearts  as  bold 
As  his  who  kept  the  bridge  so  well 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 

LXVII 

And  in  the  nights  of  winter, 

When  the  cold  north  winds  blow, 
And  the  long  howling  of  the  wolves 

Is  heard  amidst  the  snow  ; 


i491.^.'5 


38  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

When  round  the  lonely  cottage 
Roars  loud  the  tempest's  din, 

And  the  good  logs  of  Algid  us 
Roar  louder  yet  within  ; 

LXVIII 
When  the  oldest  cask  is  opened, 

And  the  largest  lamp  is  lit; 
When  the  chestnuts  glow  in  the  embers. 

And  the  kid  turns  on  the  spit ; 
When  young  and  old  in  circle 

Around  the  firebrands  close ; 
When  the  girls  are  weaving  baskets, 

And  the  lads  are  shaping  bows ; 

LXIX 

When  the  good  man  mends  his  armor, 

And  trims  his  helmet's  plume; 
When  the  goodwife's  shuttle  merrily 

Goes  flashing  through  the  loom ; 
With  weeping  and  with  laughter 

Still  is  the  story  told, 
How  well  Horatius  kept  the  bridge 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. 


Ill 

The  Skeleton  in  Armor 

Longfellow  was  always  greatly  interested  in  the 
legends  and  poetry  of  Northern  Europe,  and  in  this 
poem  he  tells  the  story  of  such  a  Viking  as  might  well 
have  crossed  the  sea  with  Leif,  son  of  Eric.  Accord- 
ing to  history  Bjarni,  the  son  of  Herjulf,  sailing  west 
from  Iceland  in  986,  bound  for  Greenland,  met  with 
dense  fogs  and  had  to  steer  by  guesswork.  After 
many  days  he  came  to  land,  but  realizing  it  was  not 
Greenland,  he  turned  north  and  finally  reached  his 
goal.  The  tale  of  his  voyage  came  in  time  to  Leif, 
son  of  red  Eric,  and  he  set  out  in  the  year  1000,  with 
thirty-five  men,  to  find  the  strange  land  to  the  south. 
He  reached  the  coast  of  Labrador,  and  named  it 
"  Helluland,"  or  "  slate-land."  Farther  south  he  came 
to  densely  wooded  shores  that  he  called  "Markland," 
or  "  woodland,"  and  afterwards  to  a  country  full  of 
grapes  which  he  christened  "  Vinland." 

Leif  and  his  men  spent  the  winter  in  Vinland,  and  in 
the  spring  carried  news  of  their  discovery  back  to 
their  home.  But  later  parties  of  Norsemen  were 
attacked  by  the  native  Indians  when  they  tried  to  ex- 
plore the  new  country,  and  in  1012  the  Vikings  gave 
up  their  voyages  thither. 

A  skeleton  clad  in  armor  was  discovered  near  Fall 


40  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

River,  Massachusetts,  in  1835,  and  doubtless  furnished 
the  idea  for  this  poem,  although  it  was  later  declared 
to  be  the  skeleton  of  an  Indian,  and  not  of  a  Norse- 
man. 

The  lofty  tower  built  by  the  Viking  in  the  poem 
might  have  been  the  old  stone  tower  which  still 
stands  at  Newport,  Rhode  Island,  and  which  was  for  a 
long  time  believed  to  have  been  built  by  Norsemen. 
Historians  now  claim  that  it  was  erected  by  Benedict 
Arnold,  governor  of  Newport  about  1676,  who  used  it 
for  a  windmill.  This  Benedict  Arnold  was,  of  course, 
not  the  man  of  the  same  name  who  figured  in  the 
American  Revolution. 

The  rhythm  and  flow  of  the  poem  are  splendid,  and 
the  story  of  the  young  Viking  who  loved  the  blue-eyed 
daughter  of  the  old  Prince  Hildebrand,  and  carried  her 
across  seas  to  the  new  Western  land  is  as  stirring  as 
any  of  the  hero-tales  of  the  Scandinavian  sagas. 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR 
By  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

"  Speak  !  speak  !  thou  fearful  guest ! 
Who,  with  thy  hollow  breast 
Still  in  rude  armor  drest, 

Comest  to  daunt  me  ! 
Wrapt  not  in  Eastern  balms, 
But  with  thy  fleshless  palms 
Stretched,  as  if  asking  alms, 

Why  dost  thou  haunt  me  ?  " 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR  41 

Then,  from  those  cavernous  eyes 
Pale  flashes  seemed  to  rise, 
As  when  the  Northern  skies 

Gleam  in  December ; 
And,  like  the  water's  flow 
Under  December's  snow, 
Came  a  dull  voice  of  woe 

From  the  heart's  chamber. 

•'  I  was  a  Viking  old  ! 
My  deeds,  though  manifold, 
No  Skald  in  song  has  told, 

No  Saga  taught  thee  ! 
Take  heed,  that  in  thy  verse 
Thou  dost  the  tale  rehearse. 
Else  dread  a  dead  man's  curse ; 

For  this  I  sought  thee. 

•'  Far  in  the  Northern  Land, 
By  the  wild  Baltic's  strand, 
I,  with  my  childish  hand. 

Tamed  the  gerfalcon  ; 
And,  with  my  skates  fast-bound, 
Skimmed  the  half- frozen  Sound, 
That  the  poor  whimpering  hound 

Trembled  to  walk  on. 

"  Oft  to  his  frozen  lair 
Tracked  I  the  grisly  bear, 
While  from  my  path  the  hare 

Fled  like  a  shadow  ; 
Oft  through  the  forest  dark 
Followed  the  were-wolf's  bark, 
Until  the  soaring  lark 
Sang  from  the  meadow. 


42  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

"  But  when  I  older  grew, 
Joining  a  corsair's  crew, 
O'er  the  dark  sea  I  flew 
With  the  marauders. 
Wild  was  the  life  we  led ; 
Many  the  souls  that  sped, 
Many  the  hearts  that  bled, 
By  our  stern  orders. 

"  Many  a  wassail-bout 
Wore  the  long  winter  out; 
Often  our  midnight  shout 

Set  the  cocks  crowing. 
As  we  the  Berserk's  tale 
Measured  in  cups  of  ale, 
Draining  the  oaken  pail. 

Filled  to  o'erflowing. 

"  Once  as  I  told  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea. 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me, 

Burning  yet  tender ; 
And  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine, 
On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 

Fell  their  soft  splendor. 

*'  I  wooed  the  blue-eyed  maid, 
Yielding,  yet  half  afraid, 
And  in  the  forest's  shade 

Our  vows  were  plighted. 
Under  its  loosened  vest 
Fluttered  her  little  breast, 
Like  birds  within  their  nest 

By  the  hawk  frighted. 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR  43 

"Bright  in  her  father's  hall 
Shields  gleamed  upon  the  wall, 
Loud  sang  the  minstrels  all, 

Chanting  his  glory  ; 
When  of  old  Hildebrand 
I  asked  his  daughter's  hand, 
Mute  did  the  minstrels  stand 

To  hear  my  story. 

<«  While  the  brown  ale  he  quaffed. 
Loud  then  the  champion  laughed, 
And  as  the  wind -gusts  waft 

The  sea-foam  brightly, 
So  the  loud  laugh  of  scorn, 
Out  of  those  lips  unshorn, 
From  the  deep  drinking-horn 
Blew  the  foam  lightly. 

<*  She  was  a  Prince's  child, 
I  but  a  Viking  wild, 
And  though  she  blushed  and  smiled, 

I  was  discarded  ! 
Should  not  the  dove  so  white 
Follow  the  sea-mew's  flight, 
Why  did  they  leave  that  night 
Her  nest  unguarded  ? 

"  Scarce  had  I  put  to  sea, 
Bearing  the  maid  with  me, 
Fairest  of  all  was  she 

Among  the  Norsemen  ! 
When  on  the  white  sea-strand, 
Waving  his  armed  hand, 
Saw  we  old  Hildebrand, 
With  twenty  horsemen. 


44  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

"  Then  launched  they  to  the  blast, 
Bent  like  a  reed  each  mast, 
Yet  we  were  gaining  fast, 

When  the  wind  failed  us ; 
And  with  a  sudden  flaw 
Came  round  the  gusty  Skaw, 
So  that  our  foe  we  saw 

Laugh  as  he  hailed  us. 

"  And  as  to  catch  the  gale 
Round  veered  the  flapping  sail, 
'  Death  !  '  was  the  helmsman's  hail, 

'  Death  without  quarter  ! ' 
Midships  with  iron  keel. 
Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel ; 
Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 
Through  the  black  water  I 

"  As  with  his  wings  aslant. 
Sails  the  fierce  cormorant. 
Seeking  some  rocky  haunt, 

With  his  prey  laden, 
So  toward  the  open  main, 
Beating  to  sea  again, 
Through  the  wild  hurricane, 
Bore  I  the  maiden. 

"  Three  weeks  we  westward  bore, 
And  when  the  storm  was  o'er. 
Cloudlike  we  saw  the  shore 

Stretching  to  leeward ; 
There  for  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  a  lofty  tower, 
Which,  to  this  very  hour, 

Stands  looking  seaward. 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR  45 

"  There  lived  we  many  years ; 
Time  dried  the  maiden's  tears; 
She  had  forgot  her  fears, 

She  was  a  mother  ; 
Death  closed  her  mild  blue  eyes, 
Under  that  tower  she  lies ; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 

On  such  another ! 

**  Still  grew  my  bosom  then, 
Still  as  a  stagnant  fen  ! 
Hateful  to  me  were  men, 

The  sunlight  hateful ! 
In  the  vast  forest  here, 
Clad  in  my  warlike  gear, 
Fell  I  upon  my  spear. 

Oh,  death  was  grateful ! 

**  Thus,  seamed  with  many  scars, 
Bursting  these  prison  bars, 
Up  to  its  native  stars 

My  soul  ascended  ! 
There  from  the  flowing  bowl 
Deep  drinks  the  warrior's  soul, 
Skoal!  to  the  Northland  !  skoal !  " 

— Thus  the  tale  ended. 


IV 

The  Sea-King's  Burial 

This  poem,  written  by  a  Scotchman,  describes  a 
strange  custom  of  the  old  Norse  Vikings.  The  kings 
of  that  northern  country,  when  they  felt  that  they  were 
soon  to  die,  had  their  servants  lift  them  from  bed  and 
place  them  on  their  battle-ship.  They  clad  the  king  in 
his  armor,  set  his  crown  upon  his  head,  and  his  sword 
in  his  hand.  A  fire  was  lighted  in  the  hold  of  the  ship. 
The  sails  were  set,  and  the  vessel  headed  out  to  sea. 
When  the  ship  was  far  from  land  the  flames  would 
reach  the  deck,  and  the  king  would  die,  sword  un- 
sheathed, the  winds  of  the  ocean  about  him.  His 
spirit  would  then  go  straight  to  the  halls  of  Valhalla, 
where  dwelt  all  the  former  heroes  and  warriors  of 
Scandinavia. 

So  King  Balder  went  out  to  sea  in  his  battle-ship,  and 
called  aloud  to  the  great  All-Father,  to  the  Norse 
gods  Odin  and  Thor,  and  to  the  Vikings  waiting  for 
him. 

The  metre  fits  the  story  perfectly.  It  has  the  swing 
of  the  ocean  waves,  and  the  long  and  short  lines  at  the 
end  of  each  stanza  give  a  strong  dramatic  effect.  It  is 
interesting  to  compare  it  with  that  other  Viking  poem 
by  Longfellow,  "  The  Skeleton  in  Armor." 


THE  SEA-KING'S  BURIAL  47 

THE  SEA-KING'S  BURIAL 
By  Charles  Mackay 

*'  My  strength  is  failing  fast," 

Said  the  sea-king  to  his  men ; — 
**  I  shall  never  sail  the  seas 
Like  a  conqueror  again. 
But  while  yet  a  drop  remains 
Of  the  life-blood  in  my  veins, 
Raise,  oh,  raise  me  from  the  bed; 
Put  the  crown  upon  my  head ; 
Put  my  good  sword  in  my  hand  ; 
And  so  lead  me  to  the  strand, 
Where  my  ship  at  anchor  rides 
Steadily ; 
If  I  cannot  end  my  life 
In  the  bloody  battle-strife, 
Let  me  die  as  I  have  lived. 

On  the  sea." 


They  have  raised  King  Balder  up, 
Put  his  crown  upon  his  head ; 

They  have  sheathed  his  limbs  in  mail. 
And  the  purple  o'er  him  spread  \ 

And  amid  the  greeting  rude 

Of  a  gathering  multitude, 

Borne  him  slowly  to  the  shore  — 

All  the  energy  of  yore 

From  his  dim  eyes  flashing  forth  — 

Old  sea-lion  of  the  north  — 
As  he  looked  upon  Iiis  ship 


48  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Riding  free, 
And  on  his  forehead  pale 
Felt  the  cold  refreshing  gale, 
And  heard  the  welcome  sound 

Of  the  sea. 


They  have  borne  him  to  the  ship 
With  a  slow  and  solemn  tread ; 
They  have  placed  him  on  the  deck 

With  his  crown  upon  his  head, 
Where  he  sat  as  on  a  throne ; 
And  have  left  him  there  alone, 
With  his  anchor  ready  weighed. 
And  the  snowy  sails  displayed 
To  the  favoring  wind,  once  more 
Blowing  freshly  from  the  shore; 
And  have  bidden  him  farewell 
Tenderly, 
Saying,  "  King  of  mighty  men. 
We  shall  meet  thee  yet  again. 
In  Valhalla,  with  the  monarchs 
Of  the  sea." 

Underneath  him  in  the  hold 

They  have  placed  the  lighted  brand; 
And  the  fire  was  burning  slow 

As  the  vessel  from  the  land, 
Like  a  stag-hound  from  the  slips. 
Darted  forth  from  out  the  ships. 
There  was  music  in  her  sail 
As  it  swelled  before  the  gale. 
And  a  dashing  at  her  prow 
As  it  cleft  the  waves  below, 
And  the  good  ship  sped  along. 


THE  SEA-KING'S  BURIAL  49 

Scudding  free; 
As  on  many  a  battle  morn 
In  her  time  she  had  been  borne, 
To  struggle,  and  to  conquer 

On  the  sea. 


And  the  king  with  sudden  strength 
Started  up,  and  paced  the  deck, 
With  his  good  sword  for  his  staff, 
And  his  robe  around  his  neck: 
Once  alone,  he  raised  his  hand 
To  the  people  on  the  land  ; 
And  with  shout  and  joyous  cry 
Once  again  they  made  reply, 
Till  the  loud  exulting  cheer 
Sounded  faintly  on  his  ear; 
For  the  gale  was  o'er  him  blowing 
Fresh  and  free ; 
And  ere  yet  an  hour  had  passed, 
He  was  driven  before  the  blast, 
And  a  storm  was  on  his  path. 
On  the  sea. 

And  still  uix)n  the  deck, 

While  the  storm  about  him  rent, 
King  Balder  paced  about 

Till  his  failing  strength  was  spent. 
Then  he  stopped  awhile  to  rest  — 
Crossed  his  hands  upon  his  breast, 
And  looked  upward  to  the  sky 
With  a  dim  but  dauntless  eye; 
And  heard  the  tall  mast  creak. 
And  the  fitful  tempest  speak 
Shrill  and  fierce,  to  the  billows 


so  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Rushing  free; 
And  within  himself  he  said  : 
"  I  am  coming,  O  ye  dead  ! 
To  join  you  in  Valhalla, 

O'er  the  sea. 


*'  So  blow,  ye  tempests,  blow, 

And  my  spirit  shall  not  quail ; 
I  have  fought  with  many  a  foe; 

I  have  weathered  many  a  gale; 
And  in  this  hour  of  death, 
Ere  I  yield  my  fleeting  breath  — 
Ere  the  fire  now  burning  slow 
Shall  come  rushing  from  below, 
And  this  worn  and  wasted  frame 
Be  devoted  to  the  flame  — 
I  will  raise  my  voice  in  triumph, 
Singing  free ; — 
To  the  great  All-Father's  home 
I  am  driving  through  the  foam, 
I  am  sailing  to  Valhalla, 

O'er  the  sea. 

"So  blow,  ye  stormy  winds  — 

And  ye  flames  ascend  on  high; — 
In  the  easy,  idle  bed 

Let  the  slave  and  coward  die  ! 
But  give  me  the  driving  keel, 
Clang  of  shields  and  flashing  steel;— 
Or  my  foot  on  foreign  ground, 
With  my  enemies  around  ! 
Happy,  happy,  thus  I'd  yield, 
On  the  deck,  or  in  the  field, 

My  last  breath,  shouting  '  On 


THE  SEA-KING'S  BURIAL  51 

To  victory.* 
But  since  this  has  been  denied, 
They  shall  say  that  I  have  died 
Without  flinching,  like  a  monarch 
Of  the  sea." 


And  Balder  spoke  no  more, 

And  no  sound  escaped  his  lip ; — 
And  he  looked,  yet  scarcely  saw 

The  destruction  of  his  ship. 
Nor  the  fleet  sparks  mounting  high. 
Nor  the  glare  upon  the  sky ; — 
Scarcely  heard  the  billows  dash. 
Nor  the  burning  timber  crash ; — 
Scarcely  felt  the  scorching  heat 
That  was  gathering  at  his  feet. 
Nor  the  fierce  flames  mounting  o'er  him 
Greedily. 
But  the  life  was  in  him  yet, 
And  the  courage  to  forget 
All  his  pain,  in  his  triumph 
On  the  sea. 

Once  alone  a  cry  arose. 

Half  of  anguish,  half  of  pride, 
As  he  sprang  upon  his  feet, 
With  the  flames  on  every  side. 
"I  am  coming  !  "  said  the  king, 
"Where  the  swords  and  bucklers  ring- 
Where  the  warrior  lives  again 
With  the  souls  of  mighty  men  — 
Where  the  weary  find  repose. 
And  the  red  wine  ever  flows  ; — 
I  am  coming,  great  All- Father, 


52  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Unto  thee  ! 
Unto  Odin,  unto  Thor, 
And  the  strong,  true  hearts  of  yore  — 
I  am  coming  to  Valhalla, 

O'er  the  sea." 


Bruce  and  the  Spider 

This  poem  tells  the  legendary  story  of  how  "  The 
Bruce,"  Robert  I,  King  of  Scotland,  after  six  successive 
defeats  by  the  English  armies,  was  a  fugitive  in  a 
lonely  hut,  and  there  saw  a  spider  try  six  times  to  cast 
his  thread  from  one  beam  to  another  and  succeed  on 
the  seventh  try.  Bruce  took  courage  from  the  spider's 
perseverance,  fought  a  seventh  time,  and  won. 

Robert  Bruce  was  a  great  leader  of  his  people,  and 
from  early  youth  fought  against  the  tyranny  of  the 
English  kings.  The  battle  of  Bannockburn  in  13 14  won 
freedom  for  Scotland  and  at  the  same  time  assured  the 
crown  to  Bruce.  Before  that  time  he  had  had  many 
rivals  for  the  throne  of  Scotland,  but  after  the  battle  his 
power  over  his  people  became  so  great  that  the  parlia- 
ment of  the  land  unanimously  proclaimed  him  king. 


BRUCE  AND  THE  SPIDER 
By  Bernard  Barton 

For  Scotland's  and  for  freedom's  right 
The  Bruce  his  part  has  played  ;  — 

In  five  successive  fields  of  fight 
Been  conquered  and  dismayed  : 


54  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Once  more  against  the  English  host 
His  band  he  led,  and  once  more  lost 

The  meed  for  which  he  fought ; 
And  now  from  battle,  faint  and  worn, 
The  homeless  fugitive,  forlorn, 

A  hut's  lone  shelter  sought. 

And  cheerless  was  that  resting-place 

For  him  who  claimed  a  throne ;  — 
His  canopy,  devoid  of  grace, 

The  rude,  rough  beams  alone ; 
The  heather  couch  his  only  bed  — 
Yet  well  I  ween  had  slumber  fled 

From  couch  of  eider  down  ! 
Through  darksome  night  till  dawn  of  day, 
Absorbed  in  wakeful  thought  he  lay 

Of  Scotland  and  her  crown. 

The  sun  rose  brightly,  and  its  gleam 

Fell  on  that  hapless  bed. 
And  tinged  with  light  each  shapeless  beam 

Which  roofed  the  lowly  shed ; 
When,  looking  up  with  wistful  eye, 
The  Bruce  beheld  a  spider  try 

His  filmy  thread  to  fling 
From  beam  to  beam  of  that  rude  cot  — 
And  well  the  insect's  toilsome  lot 

Taught  Scotland's  future  king. 

Six  times  the  gossamery  thread 
The  wary  spider  threw  ;  — 

In  vain  the  filmy  line  was  sped. 
For  powerless  or  untrue 

Each  aim  appeared,  and  back  recoiled 

The  patient  insect,  six  times  foiled, 


BRUCE  AND  THE  SPIDER  55 

And  yet  unconquered  still ; 
And  soon  the  Bruce,  with  eager  eye, 
Saw  him  prepare  once  more  to  try 

His  courage,  strength,  and  skill. 

One  effort  more,  his  seventh  and  last !  — 

The  hero  hailed  the  sign  !  — 
And  on  the  wished -for  beam  hung  fast 

That  slender  silken  line  ! 
Shght  as  it  was,  his  spirit  caught 
The  more  than  omen  ;  for  his  thought 

The  lesson  well  could  trace. 
Which  even  "  he  who  runs  may  read," 
That  Perseverance  gains  its  meed. 

And  Patience  wins  the  race. 


VI 

Bannockburn 

The  Scotch  poet,  Robert  Burns,  pictured  to  himself 
the  national  hero  of  Scotland,  Robert  Bruce,  address- 
ing his  soldiers  before  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  and  j 
wrote  what  he  imagined  Bruce  might  have  said.  The 
battle  was  fought  near  Sterling  in  13 14,  between  the 
Scotch  and  the  army  of  Edward  II  of  England.  Bruce 
reminds  his  men  of  their  history,  of  how  they  had  bled 
with  Wallace,  a  Scotch  leader  of  the  thirteenth  century 
who  had  risen  against  the  English  when  that  people 
invaded  the  Highlands,  and  of  how  they  had  followed 
Bruce  himself  in  many  a  battle.  It  is  a  fine  appeal  to 
the  always  ardent  patriotism  of  his  countrymen. 

The  English  army  greatly  outnumbered  the  Scotch, 
but  were  decisively  beaten,  and  Edward  II  narrowly 
escaped  being  taken  prisoner. 


BANNOCKBURN 
By  Robert  Burns 

At  Bannockburn  the  English  lay,- 
The  Scots  they  were  na  far  away, 
But  waited  for  the  break  o'  day 
That  glinted  in  the  east. 


BANNOCKBURN  57 

But  soon  the  sun  broke  through  the  heath 
And  lighted  up  that  field  of  death. 
When  Bruce,  \vi'  saul-inspiring  breath, 
His  heralds  thus  addressed  : — 

"  Scots,  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled  — 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led  — 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Or  to  victorie  ! 

<«  Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour ; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lower ; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power  — 
Chains  and  slaverie  ! 

«  Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 
Let  him  turn  and  flee  ! 

«*  Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Freeman  stand  or  freeman  fa' — 
Let  him  follow  me  ! 

*'  By  oppression's  woes  and  pains  1 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains  ! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 
But  they  shall  be  free  ! 

*<  Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low  ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  ! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow  ! 
Let  us  do  or  die  I  " 


VII 

The  Battle  of  Morgarten 

The  Swiss  people  regard  the  battle  of  Morgarten  as 
one  of  the  noblest  events  in  their  stirring  history.  The 
small  Swiss  cantons,  or  Forest  states,  as  they  were 
often  called,  there  successfully  withstood  the  might 
of  the  powerful  Austrians.  It  happened  in  this  way : 
After  the  death  of  Henry  VII,  King  of  Germany,  there 
was  much  confusion  in  central  Europe,  due  to  the  fact 
that  two  men  had  been  elected  to  succeed  him,  Louis 
of  Bavaria,  and  Frederick  the  Handsome,  of  Austria. 
The  Swiss  canton  of  Schwyz  began  to  attack  the  Abbey 
of  Einsiedehn,  which  belonged  to  the  Hapsburgs,  of 
whom  Frederick  was  the  head.  The  Austrian  ruler 
protested,  and  when  he  found  that  the  rest  of  the  For- 
est states  sided  with  Schwyz,  he  vowed  he  would  crush 
them.  He  gave  command  of  his  army  to  his  brother, 
Duke  Leopold,  and  the  Austrians  marched  into  Switzer- 
land late  in  the  autumn  of  13 15. 

Duke  Leopold  divided  his  army,  and  sent  one  part 
of  it,  under  Count  Otto  of  Strasburg,  to  break  into 
Unterwalden  by  the  Briinig  Pass.  Two  roads  led  from 
the  town  of  Zug  to  Schwyz,  and  Leopold,  probably 
through  ignorance,  chose  the  more  difficult  one  for  the 
troops  of  his  own  command.  On  November  15th  he 
reached  ^geri,  and  marched  along  the  shore  of  that 


THE  BATTLE  OF  MORGARTEN  59 

lake,  paying  no  attention  to  the  enemy.  He  and 
his  noblemen  held  the  Swiss  peasants  in  the  greatest 
scorn,  and  his  army  was  more  like  a  hunting  party 
than  like  troops  ready  for  battle.  They  reached  Hasel- 
matt,  and  from  there  began  to  climb  the  steep,  icy 
slopes  of  Morgarten,  heading  towards  Schornen. 

As  soon  as  the  Austrians  were  hemmed  in  by  the 
lake  and  the  mountains,  an  avalanche  of  boulders, 
rocks,  and  tree  trunks  came  pouring  down  on  the  dense 
masses  of  soldiers.  The  Swiss  peasants,  few  in  num- 
ber, knew  that  country  well,  and  were  posted  on  a 
mountain  ridge  that  gave  them  complete  command  of 
the  narrow  pass  of  Morgarten. 

While  the  confused  Austrians  tried  to  keep  their 
footing  the  main  Swiss  army,  from  Schwyz  and  Uri, 
appeared  on  the  other  side  of  the  pass,  and  rushed 
down  upon  their  enemy.  The  Austrians  were  caught 
in  a  trap,  and  the  Swiss  mowed  them  down  with  their 
halberds,  a  weapon  of  their  own  invention. 

In  a  short  time  the  Austrian  army  was  broken  to 
pieces,  many  rushed  into  the  lake,  and  those  who  were 
left  fled  back  through  the  passes  and  out  of  the  coun- 
try. Otto  of  Strasburg,  when  he  heard  of  the  retreat 
of  Leopold,  turned  back,  and  the  forest  country  was 
soon  free  of  all  invaders. 

The  battle  of  Morgarten  has  sometimes  been  called 
the  Swiss  Thermopylae,  because  a  few  men  withstood 
such  a  great  army.  It  was  the  first  of  a  long  series  of 
great  victories  for  the  hardy  mountain  people,  and 
showed  them  how  they  might  maintain  their  inde- 
pendence from  their  vastly  more  powerful  neighbors. 


6o  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

The  Swiss  gave  thanks  to  God  for  their  victory,  and 
declared  that  the  anniversary  of  the  battle  should  be  a 
day  of  thanksgiving  each  year. 

Morgarten  itself  is  the  name  given  to  the  pasture 
slopes  that  descend  to  the  southern  end  of  the  lake  of 
.^geri  in  the  canton  of  Zug.  A  monument  to  the 
victory  stands  near  the  Haselmatt  Chapel,  some  two  \ 
miles  from  the  station  at  Sattel  on  the  railroad  line 
from  Schwyz  to  Zurich.  jj 


THE  BATTLE  OF  MORGARTEN 
By  Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans 

The  wine-month  shone  in  its  golden  prime, 

And  the  red  grapes  clustering  hung, 
But  a  deeper  sound,  through  the  Switzer's  clime, 
Than  the  vintage-music,  rung. 
A  sound,  through  vaulted  cave, 
A  sound,  through  echoing  glen, 
Like  the  hollow  swell  of  a  rushing  wave ; 
—  'Twas  the  tread  of  steel-girt  men. 

And  a  trumpet,  pealing  wild  and  far, 

'Midst  the  ancient  rocks  was  blown. 
Till  the  Alps  replied  to  that  voice  of  war 
With  a  thousand  of  their  own. 
And  through  the  forest-glooms 
Flash'd  helmets  to  the  day. 
And  the  winds  were  tossing  knightly  plumes, 
Like  the  larch-boughs  in  their  play. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  MORGARTEN  6i 

In  Hash's  wilds  there  was  gleaming  steel, 

As  the  host  of  the  Austrian  pass'd  ; 
And  the  Schreckhorn's  rocks,  with  a  savage  peal, 
Made  mirth  of  his  clarion's  blast. 
Up  'midst  the  Righi  snows 
The  stormy  march  was  heard, 
With  the  charger's  tramp,  whence  fire-sparks  rose, 
And  the  leader's  gathering  word. 

But  a  band,  the  noblest  band  of  all, 

Through  the  rude  Morgarten  strait, 
With  blazon'd  streamers,  and  lances  tall, 
Moved  onwards  in  princely  state. 
They  came  with  heavy  chains. 
For  the  race  despised  so  long  — 
But  amidst  his  Alp-domains, 
The  herdsman's  arm  is  strong  ! 

The  sun  was  reddening  the  clouds  of  mom 

When  they  entered  the  rock  defile, 
And  shrill  as  a  joyous  hunter's  horn 
Their  bugles  rung  the  while. 
But  on  the  misty  height, 
Where  the  mountain-people  stood, 
There  was  stillness,  as  of  night, 
When  storms  at  distance  brood. 

There  was  stillness,  as  of  deep  dead  night. 

And  a  pause — but  not  of  fear, 
While  the  Switzers  gazed  on  the  gathering  might 
Of  the  hostile  shield  and  spear. 
On  wound  those  columns  bright 
Between  the  lake  and  wood, 
But  they  look'd  not  to  the  misty  height 
Where  the  mountain-people  stood. 


62  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

The  pass  was  fiU'd  with  their  serried  power, 

All  helm'd  and  niail-array'd, 
And  their  steps  had  sounds  like  a  thunder- shower 
In  the  rustling  forest-shade. 

There  were  prince  and  crested  knight, 
Hemm'd  in  by  cliff  and  flood, 
When  a  shout  arose  from  the  misty  height 
Where  the  mountain-people  stood. 

And  the  mighty  rocks  came  bounding  down, 

Their  startled  foes  among, 
With  a  joyous  whirl  from  the  summit  thrown  — 
Oh  !  the  herdsman's  arm  is  strong  ! 
They  came  like  lauwine  hurl'd 
From  Alp  to  Alp  in  play, 
_When  the  echoes  shout  through  the  snowy  world 
And  the  pines  are  borne  away. 

The  fir-woods  crash'd  on  the  mountain-side. 

And  the  Switzers  rush'd  from  high. 
With  a  sudden  charge,  on  the  flower  and  pride 
Of  the  Austrian  chivalry  : 
Like  hunters  of  the  deer, 
They  storm'd  the  narrow  dell, 
And  first  in  the  shock,  with  Uri's  spear, 
Was  the  arm  of  William  Tell, 

There  was  tumult  in  the  crowded  strait, 

And  a  cry  of  wild  dismay. 
And  many  a  warrior  met  his  fate 
From  a  peasant's  hand  that  day  ! 
And  the  empire's  banner  then 
From  its  place  of  waving  free, 
Went  down  before  the  shepherd-men, 
The  men  of  the  Forest-sea. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  MORGARTEN  63 

With  their  pikes  and  massy  clubs  they  brake 

The  cuirass  and  the  shield, 
And  the  war-horse  dash'd  to  the  reddening  lake 
From  the  reapers  of  the  field  ! 
The  field — but  not  of  sheaves  — 
Proud  crests  and  pennons  lay, 
Strewn  o'er  it  thick  as  the  birch-wood  leaves, 
In  the  autumn  tempest's  way. 

Oh !  the  sun  in  heaven  fierce  havoc  view'd, 

When  the  Austrian  turn'd  to  fly, 
And  the  brave,  in  the  trampling  multitude, 
Had  a  fearful  death  to  die  ! 
And  the  leader  of  the  war 
At  eve  unhelm'd  was  seen, 
With  a  hurrying  step  on  the  wilds  afar, 
And  a  pale  and  troubled  mien. 

But  the  sons  of  the  land  which  the  freeman  tills, 

Went  back  from  the  battle-toil. 
To  their  cabin  homes  'midst  the  deep  green  hills, 
All  burden'd  with  royal  spoil. 
There  were  songs  and  festal  fires 
On  the  soaring  Alps  that  night, 
When  children  sprung  to  greet  their  sires 
From  the  wild  Morgarten  fight. 


'  VIII 

Chevy-Chase 

This  is  a  very  old  English  ballad,  and  the  author  of 
it  is  unknown.  The  title  actually  means  the  hunt  or 
chase  among  the  Cheviot  Hills  which  divide  England 
and  Scotland.  According  to  the  story  there  had  long 
been  keen  rivalry  between  the  families  of  Percy,  Earl 
of  Northumberland  in  England,  and  of  the  Scotch  Earl 
of  Douglas.  Each  made  continual  raids  into  the 
other's  territory.  One  day  Earl  Percy  vowed  that  he 
would  hunt  for  three  days  in  the  Scotch  border,  or 
Cheviot  Hills,  without  asking  leave  of  the  Douglas. 
He  set  out  to  do  this,  but  as  soon  as  the  hunt  begins 
the  ballad  mixes  with  it  an  account  of  the  Battle  of 
Otterburn,  which  was  fought  by  English  and  Scotch  in 
1388  in  the  county  of  Northumberland,  and  which  re- 
sulted in  a  Scotch  victory. 

The  poem  describes  both  the  hunt  and  the  battle, 
but  many  of  the  facts  are  incorrectly  given.  Earl 
Percy's  son,  Henry,  known  as  Hotspur,  killed  Earl 
Douglas  at  Otterburn,  although  here  Douglas  is  de- 
scribed as  being  killed  by  the  arrow  of  an  English 
archer.  The  English  king  is  called  Henry,  and  the 
Scotch  James,  but  in  1388  Richard  II  was  king  of 
England,  and  Robert  II  king  of  Scotland.  In  return 
for  the  English  defeat  at  Otterburn,  they  did,  as  the 


,,ff%  ■  ^ 


CHEVY-CHASE  65 

poem  states,  win  a  great  victory  over  the  Scotch  at 
Humbledown  in  Northumberland  in  1402. 

Many  of  these  old  ballads  contain  curious  mixtures 
of  several  poems,  made  into  one  years  after  the  events 
described.  This  is  a  very  good  example  of  such  a 
combination,  and  one  of  the  best  of  the  old  popular 
narratives  in  rhyme. 

CHEVY- CHASE 
Ano7iymoiis 

God  prosper  long  our  noble  king, 

Our  lives  and  safeties  all ; 
A  woful  hunting  once  there  did 

In  Chevy-Chase  befall. 

To  drive  the  deer  with  hound  and  horn 

Earl  Percy  took  his  way  ; 
The  child  may  rue  that  is  unborn 

The  hunting  of  that  day. 

The  stout  earl  of  Northumberland 

A  vow  to  God  did  make, 
His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods 

Three  summer  days  to  take  — 

The  chiefest  harts  in  Chevy-Chase 

To  kill  and  bear  away. 
These  tidings  to  Earl  Douglas  came, 

In  Scotland  where  he  lay  ; 

Who  sent  Earl  Percy  present  word 

He  would  prevent  his  sport. 
The  English  earl,  not  fearing  that, 

Did  to  the  woods  resort. 


66  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

,  With  fifteen  hundred  bowmen  bold, 

All  chosen  men  of  might, 
Who  knew  full  well  in  lime  of  need 
To  aim  their  shafts  aright. 

The  gallant  greyhounds  swiftly  ran 

To  chase  the  fallow  deer ; 
On  Monday  they  began  to  hunt 

When  daylight  did  appear ; 

And  long  before  high  noon  they  had 
A  hundred  fat  bucks  slain  ; 

Then  having  dined,  the  drovers  went 
To  rouse  the  deer  again. 

The  bowmen  mustered  on  the  hills, 

Well  able  to  endure; 
And  all  their  rear,  with  special  care. 

That  day  was  guarded  sure. 

The  hounds  ran  swiftly  through  the  woods. 

The  nimble  deer  to  take, 
That  with  their  cries  the  hills  and  dales 

An  echo  shrill  did  make. 

Lord  Percy  to  the  quarry  went. 
To  view  the  slaughtered  deer  ; 

Quoth  he,  "  Earl  Douglas  promised 
This  day  to  meet  me  here; 

"  But  if  I  thought  he  would  not  come, 
No  longer  would  I  stay;  " 
With  that  a  brave  young  gentleman 
Thus  to  the  earl  did  say : 


CHEVY-CHASE  67 

•*  Lo,  yonder  doth  Earl  Douglas  come, 
His  men  in  armor  bright ; 
Full  twenty  hundred  Scottish  spears 
All  marching  in  our  sight ; 

«'  All  men  of  pleasant  Teviotdale, 

Fast  by  the  river  Tweed  ;  " 
«'  Then  cease  your  sports,"  Earl  Percy  said, 

"  And  take  your  bows  with  speed ; 

"  And  now  with  me,  my  countrymen, 
Your  courage  forth  advance ; 
For  never  was  there  champion  yet, 
In  Scotland  or  in  France, 

"  That  ever  did  on  horseback  come, 
But  if  my  hap  it  were, 
I  durst  encounter  man  for  man, 
With  him  to  break  a  spear." 

Earl  Douglas  on  his  milk-white  steed. 

Most  like  a  baron  bold, 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company. 

Whose  armor  shone  like  gold. 

"  Show  me,"  said  he,  "  whose  men  you  be. 
That  hunt  so  boldly  here, 
That,  without  my  consent,  do  chase 
And  kill  my  fallow-deer." 

The  first  man  that  did  answer  make, 

Was  noble  Percy  he — 
Who  said,  "  We  list  not  to  declare. 

Nor  show  whose  men  we  be : 


68  HISTORIC  POKMS  AND  BALLADS 

"  Yet  will  we  spend  our  dearest  blood 
Thy  chiefest  harts  to  slay." 
Then  Douglas  swore  a  solemn  oath, 
And  thus  in  rage  did  say  : 

*'  Ere  thus  I  will  out-braved  be, 
One  of  us  two  shall  die ; 
I  know  thee  well,  an  earl  thou  art  — 
Lord  Percy,  so  am  L 

*'  But  trust  me,  Percy,  pity  it  were, 

And  great  offence,  to  kill 

Any  of  these  our  guiltless  men, 

For  they  have  done  no  ill. 

"  Let  you  and  me  the  battle  try. 

And  set  our  men  aside." 
"Accursed  be  he,"  Earl  Percy  said, 

•*  By  whom  this  is  denied." 

Then  stepped  a  gallant  squire  forth, 
Witherington  was  his  name. 

Who  said,  ' '  I  would  not  have  it  told 
To  Henry,  our  king,  for  shame, 

"That  e'er  my  captain  fought  on  foot. 
And  I  stood  looking  on. 
You  two  be  earls,"  said  Witherington, 
"And  I  a  squire  alone; 

"  ril  do  the  best  that  do  I  may. 
While  I  have  power  to  stand ; 
While  I  have  power  to  wield  my  sword, 
I'll  fight  with  heart  and  hand." 


CHEVY-CHASE  69 

Our  English  archers  bent  their  bows  — 

Their  hearts  were  good  and  true ; 
At  the  first  flight  of  arrows  sent, 

Full  fourscore  Scots  they  slew. 

Yet  stays  Earl  Douglas  on  the  bent, 

As  chieftain  stout  and  good  ; 
As  valiant  captain,  all  unmoved, 

The  shock  he  firmly  stood. 

His  host  he  parted  had  in  three, 

As  leader  ware  and  tried  ; 
And  soon  his  spearmen  on  their  foes 

Bore  down  on  every  side. 

Throughout  the  English  archery 

They  dealt  full  many  a  wound  ; 
But  still  our  valiant  Englishmen 

All  firmly  kept  their  ground. 

And  throwing  straight  their  bows  away, 
They  grasped  their  swords  so  bright ; 

And  now  sharp  blows,  a  heavy  shower, 
On  shields  and  helmets  light. 

They  closed  full  fast  on  every  side  — 

No  slackness  there  was  found  ; 
And  many  a  gallant  gentleman 

Lay  gasping  on  the  ground. 

In  truth,  it  was  a  grief  to  see 

How  each  one  chose  his  spear. 
And  how  the  blood  out  of  their  breasts 

Did  gush  like  water  clear. 


70  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

At  last  these  two  stout  earls  did  meet ; 

Like  captains  of  great  might, 
Like  lions  wode,  they  laid  on  lode, 

And  made  a  cruel  fight. 

They  fought  until  they  both  did  sweat. 
With  swords  of  tempered  steel, 

Until  the  blood,  like  drops  of  rain, 
They  trickling  down  did  feel. 


( 


'Yield  thee,  Lord  Percy,"  Douglas  said; 
*'  In  faith  I  will  thee  bring 
Where  thou  shalt  high  advanced  be 
By  James,  our  Scottish  king. 

"  Thy  ransom  I  will  freely  give. 
And  this  report  of  thee, 
Thou  art  the  most  courageous  knight 
That  ever  I  did  see." 

"No,  Douglas,"  saith  Earl  Percy  then, 
"  Thy  proffer  I  do  scorn ; 
I  will  not  yield  to  any  Scot 
That  ever  yet  was  born." 

With  that  there  came  an  arrow  keen 

Out  of  an  English  bow, 
Which  struck  Earl  Douglas  to  the  heart, 

A  deep  and  deadly  blow ; 

Who  never  spake  more  words  than  these ; 

"  Fight  on,  my  merry  men  all ; 
For  why,  my  life  is  at  an  end ; 

Lord  Percy  sees  my  fall." 


CHEVY- CHASE  71 

Then  leaving  life,  Earl  Percy  took 

The  dead  man  by  the  hand ; 
And- said,  "Earl  Douglas,  for  thy  life 

Would  I  had  lost  my  land. 

«« In  truth,  my  very  heart  doth  bleed 
With  sorrow  for  thy  sake ; 
For  sure  a  more  redoubted  knight 
Mischance  did  never  take." 

A  knight  amongst  the  Scots  there  was 

Who  saw  Earl  Douglas  die. 
Who  straight  in  wrath  did  vow  revenge 

Upon  the  Earl  Percy. 

Sir  Hugh  Mountgomery  was  he  called, 

Who,  with  a  spear  full  bright, 
Well  mounted  on  a  gallant  steed. 

Ran  fiercely  through  the  fight ; 

And  past  the  English  archers  all, 

Without  a  dread  or  fear ; 
And  through  Earl  Percy's  body  then 

He  thrust  his  hateful  spear  ; 

With  such  vehement  force  and  might 

He  did  his  body  gore, 
The  staff  ran  through  the  other  side 

A  large  cloth-yard  and  more. 

So  thus  did  both  these  nobles  die, 

Whose  courage  none  could  stain. 
An  English  archer  then  perceived 

The  noble  earl  was  slain. 


I 

1 

72  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

He  had  a  bow  bent  in  his  hand,  ] 

Made  of  a  trusty  tree ;  H 

An  arrow  of  a  cloth-yard  long 
To  the  hard  head  haled  he. 


Against  Sir  Hugh  Mountgomery 

So  right  the  shaft  he  set, 
The  gray  goose  wing  that  was  thereon 

In  his  heart's  blood  was  wet. 

This  fight  did  last  from  break  of  day 

Till  setting  of  the  sun  : 
For  when  they  rung  the  evening-bell, 

The  battle  scarce  was  done. 

With  stout  Earl  Percy  there  were  slain 

Sir  John  of  Egerton, 
Sir  Robert  Ratcliff,  and  Sir  John, 

Sir  James,  that  bold  baron. 

And  with  Sir  George  and  stout  Sir  James, 
Both  knights  of  good  account, 

Good  Sir  Ralph  Raby  there  was  slain. 
Whose  prowess  did  surmount. 

For  Witherington  my  heart  is  wo 
That  ever  he  slain  should  be, 

For  when  his  legs  were  hewn  in  two, 
He  knelt  and  fought  on  his  knee. 

And  with  Earl  Douglas  there  was  slain 

Sir  Hugh  Mountgomery, 
Sir  Charles  Murray,  that  from  the  field 

One  foot  would  never  flee. 


CHEVY-CHASE  73 

Sir  Charles  Murray  of  Ratcliff,  too- 

His  sister's  son  was  he; 
Sir  David  Lamb,  so  well  esteemed, 

But  saved  he  could  not  be. 

And  the  Lord  Maxwell  in  like  case 

Did  with  Earl  Douglas  die  : 
Of  twenty  hundred  Scottish  spears, 

Scarce  fifty-five  did  fly. 

Of  fifteen  hundred  Englishmen, 

Went  home  but  fifty-three ; 
The  rest  in  Chevy-Chase  were  slain, 

Under  the  greenwood  tree. 

Next  day  did  many  widows  come, 

Their  husbands  to  bewail ; 
They  washed  their  wounds  in  brinish  tears, 

But  all  would  not  prevail. 

Their  bodies,  bathed  in  purple  blood. 

They  bore  with  them  away ; 
They  kissed  them  dead  a  thousand  times, 

Ere  they  were  clad  in  clay. 

The  news  was  brought  to  Edinburgh, 

Where  Scotland's  king  did  reign, 
That  brave  Earl  Douglas  suddenly 

Was  with  an  arrow  slain  : 

*  Oh,  heavy  news,"  King  James  did  say; 
"  Scotland  can  witness  be 
I  have  not  any  captain  more 
Of  such  account  as  he." 


74  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Like  tidings  to  King  Henry  came 

Within  as  short  a  space, 
That  Percy  of  Northumberland 

Was  slain  in  Chevy-Chase : 

"  Now  God  be  with  him,"  said  our  king, 
"  Since  'twill  no  better  be; 
I  trust  I  have  within  my  realm 
Five  hundred  as  good  as  he : 

**  Yet  shall  not  Scots  or  Scotland  say 
But  I  will  vengeance  take : 
I'll  be  revenged  on  them  all, 
For  brave  Earl  Percy's  sake." 

This  vow  full  well  the  king  performed 

After  at  Humbledown ; 
In  one  day  fifty  knights  were  slain, 

With  lords  of  high  renown ; 

And  of  the  best,  of  small  account, 

Did  many  hundreds  die  : 
Thus  endeth  the  hunting  of  Chevy-Chase, 

Made  by  the  Earl  Percy. 

God  save  the  king,  and  bless  this  land, 
With  plenty,  joy,  and  peace  ; 

And  grant,  henceforth,  that  foul  debate 
'Twixt  noblemen  may  cease ! 


IX 

Ivry 

This  splendid  poem  tells  of  the  battle  of  Ivry,  fought 
in  1590  between  the  Huguenots,  or  Protestants,  under 
Henry  of  Navarre,  and  the  Catholics,  led  by  the  Duke 
of  Mayenne.  Navarre  was  a  small  kingdom  lying 
partly  in  France  and  partly  in  Spain,  and  Henry's 
mother  was  its  queen.  The  king  of  France,  Henry  III, 
had  tried  to  reconcile  the  Catholics  and  Huguenots,  but 
the  Catholics  distrusted  him,  and  formed  a  "League" 
to  fight  for  their  faith.  This  brought  about  a  great 
civil  war  in  France. 

Henry  III  was  assassinated  in  1589.  He  had  chosen 
his  cousin,  Henry  of  Navarre,  to  succeed  him,  but  the 
leaders  of  the  League  and  the  people  of  Paris  opposed 
this.  Henry  of  Navarre  defeated  Mayenne  at  Ivry, 
which  is  about  thirty  miles  west  of  Paris,  and  as  a  result 
of  this  victory  became  undisputed  king  of  France.  He 
made  a  wise  ruler,  and  was  one  of  the  best  loved  of  all 
French  kings.  He  was  famous  for  his  gallant  bearing, 
his  chivalry,  and  his  bravery,  all  of  which  he  had  shown 
very  strikingly  at  Ivry. 

Macaulay  pictures  the  enthusiasm  of  a  follower  of 
Henr}'  at  the  battle.  The  Huguenots  have  won,  thanks 
to  the  Lord  of  Hosts  and  their  king,  and  there  shall  be 


76  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  13ALLADS 

rejoicing  in  the  city  of  La  Rochelle,  a  Huguenot  strong- 
hold on  the  western  coast  of  France. 

Then  the  Huguenot  soldier  describes  the  battle. 
The  army  of  the  Catholic  League  faced  them,  made 
up  of  citizens  led  by  priests  and  rebellious  nobles, 
Swiss  infantry  under  Appenzel,  spearmen  brought 
from  Flanders  by  Philip,  Count  of  Egmont,  the 
troopers  of  the  Guise  family,  who  came  from  the 
province  of  Lorraine,  with  the  Duke  of  Mayenne  him- 
self in  command  of  them.  As  the  Huguenots  looked 
at  their  enemies  they  remembered  the  Massacre  of 
St.  Bartholomew  in  1572,  when  Catherine  de'  Medici 
had  tried  to  kill  all  the  Huguenots  in  France,  and  had 
killed  so  many  in  Paris  that  the  River  Seine  ran  with 
blood  ;  and  they  remembered  that  their  great  leader, 
Admiral  Coligny,  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  fall. 

Then  Henry  of  Navarre  rode  out  before  his  troops, 
with  a  snow-white  plume  fastened  to  his  helmet.  He 
bade  his  men  follow  him,  and  if  the  standard-bearer 
fell  to  take  his  white  plume  for  their  guide  and  flag  of 
battle. 

The  enemy  charged,  the  Duke  of  Mayenne  leading 
the  mercenary  troops  of  Guelders  and  Almayne  across 
the  open  field.  A  thousand  Huguenot  knights  set 
their  spears  in  rest,  and  followed  Henry's  plume  as  he 
dashed  forward.  The  armies  met,  and  Mayenne  was 
driven  back,  the  Duke  d'Aumale  forced  to  surrender, 
and  the  Count  of  Egmont  killed.  The  Huguenots 
raised  the  cry,  "Remember  St.  Bartholomew!"  but 
Henry  called  to  them  to  pursue  the  foreign  soldiers' 
but  to  spare  their  French  brothers.     As  if  to  mark  the 


IVRY  Tj 

downfall  of  the  great  Catholic  house  of  Guise,  the 
Huguenot  Duke  of  Sully,  Baron  of  Rosny,  captured 
the  black  and  white  standard  of  that  family. 

The  poem  ends  with  a  call  to  the  daughters  and 
wives  of  Vienna  and  Lucerne  to  weep  for  their  fathers 
and  husbands  who  had  been  killed  fighting  for  the 
League,  to  Philip  II  of  Spain,  an  ally  of  Mayenne,  to 
send  his  Mexican  gold  to  Antwerp  so  that  the  monks 
might  pray  for  his  Flemish  spearmen,  to  the  soldiers  of 
the  League  to  be  prepared  for  further  battle,  and  to  the 
people  of  St.  Genevieve's  city  of  Paris  to  watch  for  the 
victorious  arrival  of  the  Huguenots  under  their  valiant 
king. 

In  this  poem  Macaulay  catches  the  gallant  spirit  of 
the  follower  of  Henry  of  Navarre  as  vividly  as  he  de- 
scribes the  simple  patriotism  of  a  citizen  of  the  Roman 
Republic  in  "  Horatius." 

IVRY 
By  Thomas  Babbington,  Lord  Macaulay 

Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  from  whom  all  glories  are  ! 
And  glory  to  our  Sovereign  Liege,  King  Henry  of  Navarre  ! 
Now  let  there  be  the  merry  sound  of  music  and  of  dance, 
Through  thy  corn-fields  green,  and  sunny  vines,  O  pleasant  land 

of  France  ! 
And  thou,  Rochelle,  our  own  Rochelle,  proud  city  of  the  waters. 
Again  let  rapture  light  the  eyes  of  all  thy  mourning  daughters. 
As  thou  wert  constant  in  our  ills,  be  joyous  in  our  joy, 
For  cold,  and  stiff,  and  still  are  they  who  wrought  thy  walls  annoy. 
Hurrah  !   Hurrah  !  a  single  field  hath  turned  the  chance  of  war, 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  for  Ivry,  and  Henry  of  Navarre. 


78  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Oh  !  how  our  hearts  were  beating,  when  at  the  dawn  of  day 
We  saw  the  army  of  the  League  drawn  out  in  long  array  ; 
With  all  its  priest-led  citizens,  and  all  its  rebel  peers, 
And  Appenzel's  stout  infantry,  and  Egmont's  Flemish  spears. 
There  rode  the  brood  of  false  Lorraine,  the  curses  of  our  land ; 
And  dark  Mayenne  was  in  the  midst,  a  truncheon  in  his  hand  : 
And,  as  we  looked  on  them,  we  thought  of  Seine's  empurpled  flood, 
And  good  Coligni's  hoary  hair  all  dabbled  with  his  blood; 
And  we  cried  unto  the  living  God,  who  rules  the  fate  of  war, 
To  fight  for  His  own  holy  name,  and  Henry  of  Navarre. 

The  King  is  come  to  marshal  us,  in  all  his  armor  drest, 

And  he  has  bound  a  snow-white  plume  upon  his  gallant  crest. 

He  looked  upon  his  people,  and  a  tear  was  in  his  eye ; 

He  looked  upon  the  traitors,  and  his  glance  was  stern  and  high. 

Right  graciously  he  smiled  on  us,  as  rolled  from  wing  to  wing, 

Down  all  our  line,  a  deafening  shout,  "  God  save  our  Lord  the 

King  !  " 
*«  And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall,  as  fall  full  well  he  may, 
For  never  saw  I  promise  yet  of  such  a  bloody  fray. 
Press  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine,  amidst  the  ranks  of 

war. 
And  be  your  oriflamme  to-day  the  helmet  of  Navarre." 

Hurrah  !  the  foes  are  moving.     Hark  to  the  mingled  din 

Of  fife,  and  steed,  and  trump,  and  drum,  and  roaring  culverin. 

The  fiery  Duke  is  pricking  fast  across  Saint  Andre's  plain, 

Witli  all  the  hireling  chivalry  of  Guelders  and  Almayne. 

Now  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of  France, 

Charge  for  the  golden  lilies, — upon  them  with  the  lance. 

A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep,  a  thousand  spears  in  rest, 

A   thousand  knights  are  pressing   close  behind   the  snow-white 

crest ; 
And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while,  like  a  guiding  star, 
Amidst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed  the  helmet  of  Navarre. 


IVRY  79 

Now,  God  be  praised,  the  day  is  ours.     Mayenne  hath  turned  his 

rein. 
D'Aumale  hath  cried  for  quarter.     The  Flemish  count  is  slain. 
Their  ranks  are  breaking  like  thin  clouds  before  a  Biscay  gale; 
The  field  is  heaped  with  bleeding  steeds,  and  flags,  and  cloven 

mail. 
And  then  we  thought  on  vengeance,  and,  all  along  our  van, 
"  Remember  St.  Bartholomew,"  was  passed  from  man  to  man. 
But  out  spake  gentle  Henry,  "  No  Frenchman  is  my  foe : 
Down,  down  with  every  foreigner,  but  let  your  brethren  go." 
Oh  !  was  there  ever  such  a  knight,  in  friendship  or  in  war. 
As  our  Sovereign  Lord,  King  Henry,  the  soldier  of  Navarre  ? 

Right  well  fought  all  the  Frenchmen  who  fought  for  France  to- 
day; 

And  many  a  lordly  banner  God  gave  them  for  a  prey. 

But  we  of  the  religion  have  borne  us  best  in  fight ; 

And  the  good  Lord  of  Rosny  hath  ta'en  the  cornet  white. 

Our  own  true  Maximilian  the  cornet  white  hath  ta'en. 

The  cornet  white  with  crosses  black,  the  flag  of  false  Lorraine. 

Up  with  it  high ;  unfurl  it  wide ;  that  all  the  host  may  know 

How  God  hath  humbled  the  proud  house  which  wrought  His 
church  such  woe. 

Then  on  the  ground,  while  trumpets  sound  their  loudest  point  of 
war. 

Fling  the  red  shreds,  a  footcloth  neat  for  Henry  of  Navarre. 

Ho  !  maidens  of  Vienna  ;  ho  !  matrons  of  Lucerne  ; 

Weep,  weep,  and  rend  your  hair  for  those  who  never  shall  return. 

Ho  !  Philip,  send,  for  charity,  thy  Mexican  pistoles, 

That  Antwerp  monks  may  sing  a  mass  for  thy  poor  spearmen's 

souls. 
Ho  !  gallant  nobles  of  the  League,  look  that  your  arms  be  bright; 
Ho  !   burghers  of  Saint  Genevieve,  keep  watch  and  ward  to-night. 


So  HISTORIC  POKMS  AND  BALLADS 

For  our  God  hath  crushed  the  tyrant,  our  God  hath  raised  the 

slave, 
And  mocked  the  counsel  of  the  wise,  and  the  valor  of  the  brave. 
Then  glory  to  His  holy  name,  from  whom  all  glories  are ; 
And  glory  to  our  Sovereign  Lord,  King  Henry  of  Navarre. 


X 

The  Revenge 

This  ballad  of  the  Revenge  tells  a  true  story  of  the 
war  that  was  fought  between  Queen  Elizabeth  of  Eng- 
land and  Philip  II  of  Spain.  A  fleet  of  six  English 
ships  was  overtaken  at  the  Azore  Islands  in  August, 
1 59 1,  by  fifty-three  Spanish  men-of-war,  many  of  them 
of  very  large  size  and  carrying  big  guns.  The  Eng- 
lish ships  were  in  need  of  repairs,  and  many  of  their 
sailors  were  ill  on  shore.  The  Admiral,  Lord  Thomas 
Howard,  seeing  how  great  were  the  odds  against  him, 
gave  orders  to  fly  at  once.  But  Sir  Richard  Grenville, 
commander  of  the  small  ship  Revenge,  said  that  more 
than  ninety  of  his  crew  were  ill  on  shore,  and  that  he 
could  not  leave  them  there  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  Spaniards,  who  would  treat  them  as  heretics  and 
ill-use  them. 

The  Admiral  left  with  his  five  ships,  and  Sir  Rich- 
ard carried  all  his  sick  sailors,  men  from  Bideford  in 
Devonshire,  on  board  the  Revenge,  while  they  blessed 
him  for  not  surrendering  them  to  the  cruel  Spaniards. 
Then  he  sailed  from  the  Azores,  with  a  crew  of  only  a 
hundred  men. 

The  Spanish  fleet,  built  so  high  at  bow  and  stern 
that  they  looked  like  castles  on  the  water,  caught  up 
with   the   Revcjige.     Sir  Richard   sent  his  little  craft 


82  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

straight  through  the  enemy's  men-of-war,  and  fought 
them  all  that  afternoon  and  all  that  night.  At  dawn 
they  were  still  fighting,  and  then  Sir  Richard  wanted 
to  sink  his  ship  rather  than  let  her  fall  into  the  hands 
of  Spain.  But  his  men  protested,  saying  they  could 
get  honorable  terms  of  surrender  from  their  foes. 

Sir  Richard  was  wounded  and  dying  when  his  men 
yielded.  The  Spaniards  carried  him  like  a  hero  to 
their  flag-ship,  where  he  died.  Then  they  manned  the 
little  Revenge  with  their  own  crew,  and  the  whole  fleet 
set  sail.  But  that  night  a  great  gale  rose  and  shat- 
tered the  Spanish  fleet,  and  together  with  the  other 
ships  the  Revenge  sank  at  sea. 

Tennyson  follows  the  account  of  the  actual  sea-fight 
closely.  The  words  of  Sir  Richard  as  he  fell  on  the 
deck  of  the  Spanish  man-of-war  are  said  to  have  been : 
"  Here  die  I,  Richard  Grenville,  with  a  joyful  and  quiet 
mind  ;  for  I  have  ended  my  life  as  a  good  soldier  ought 
to  do,  who  has  fought  for  his  country  and  his  queen, 
for  his  honor  and  religion." 

THE  REVENGE 
By  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 

(A  Ballad  of  the  Fleet) 
(August,  1 59 1) 

At  Flores  in  the  Azores,  Sir  Richard  Grenville  lay, 
^        And  a  pinnace,  like  a  fluttered  bird,  came  flying  from  far  away : 
"  Spanish  ships-of-war  at  sea  !  we  have  sighted  fifty-three  !  " 
Then  sware  Lord  Thomas  Howard  :    "  'Fore  God  I  am  no  coward; 
But  I  cannot  meet  them  here,  for  my  ships  are  out  of  gear, 
And  the  half  my  men  are  sick.     I  must  fly  but  follow  quick. 


THE  REVENGE  83 

We  are  six  ships  of  the  line;  can  we  fight  with  fifty-three?  " 

Then  spake  Sir  Richard  Grenville  :    "1  know  you  are  no  coward  ; 

You  fly  them  for  a  moment  to  fight  with  them  again. 

But  I've  ninety  men  and  more  that  are  lying  sick  ashore. 

I  should  count  myself  the  coward  if  I  left  them,  my  Lord  Howard, 

To  these  Inquisition  dogs  and  the  devildoms  of  Spain." 


So  Lord  Howard  passed  away  with  five  ships-of-war  that  day, 

Till  he  melted  like  a  cloud  in  the  silent  summer  heaven ; 

But  Sir  Richard  bore  in  hand  all  his  sick  men  from  the  land 

Very  carefully  and  slow. 

Men  of  Bideford  in  Devon, 

And  we  laid  them  on  the  ballast  down  below ; 

For  we  brought  them  all  aboard. 

And  they  blest  him  in  their  pain,  that  they  were  not  left  to  Spain, 

To  the  thumbscrew  and  the  stake,  for  the  glory  of  the  Lord. 

He  had  only  a  hundred  seamen  to  work  the  ship  and  to  fight, 
And  he  sailed  away  from  Flores  till  the  Spaniard  came  in  sight, 
With  his  huge  sea-castles  heaving  upon  the  weather-bow. 
"Shall  we  fight  or  shall  we  fly? 
Good  Sir  Richard,  tell  us  now, 
For  to  fight  is  but  to  die  ! 

There'll  be  little  of  us  left  by  the  time  this  sun  be  set." 
And  Sir  Richard  said  again  :    "We  be  all  good  Englishmen. 
Let  us  bang  these  dogs  of  Seville,  the  children  of  the  devil. 
For  I  never  turned  my  back  upon  don  or  devil  yet." 

Sir  Richard  spoke  and  he  laughed,  and  we  roared  a  hurrah,  and  so 
The  little  Revenge  ran  on  sheer  into  the  heart  of  the  foe, 
With  her  hundred  fighters  on  deck,  and  her  ninety  sick  below; 
For  half  of  their  fleet  to  the  right  and  half  to  the  left  were  seen, 
And  the  little  Revenge  ran  on  through  the  long  sea-lane  between. 


84  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Thousands  of  their  soldiers  looked  down  from  their  decks  and 

laughed, 
Thousands  of  their  seamen  made  mock  at  the  mad  little  craft 
Running  on  and  on,  till  delayed 

By  their  mountain-like  San  Philip  that,  of  fifteen  hundred  tons, 
And  up-shadowing  high  above  us  with  her  yawning  tiers  of  guns, 
Took  the  breath  from  our  sails,  and  we  stayed. 

And  while  now  the  great  San  Philip  hung  above  us  like  a  cloud, 

Whence  the  thunderbolt  will  fall 

Long  and  loud, 

Four  galleons  drew  away 

From  the  Spanish  fleet  that  day. 

And  two  upon  the  larboard  and  two  upon  the  starboard  lay, 

And  the  battle-thunder  broke  from  them  all. 

But  anon  the  great  San  Philip,  she  bethought  herself  and  went, 

Having  that  within  her  womb  that  had  left  her  ill-content ; 

And  the  rest  they  came  aboard  us,  and  they  fought  us  hand  to 

hand, 
For  a  dozen  times  they  came  with  their  pikes  and  musqueteers. 
And  a  dozen  times  we  shook  'em  off  as  a  dog  that  shakes  his  ears. 
When  he  leaps  from  the  water  to  the  land. 

And  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  stars  came  out  far  over  the 

summer  sea. 
But  never  a  moment  ceased  the  fight  of  the  one  and  the  fifty-three. 
Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  their  high-built  galleons  came. 
Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  with  her  battle-thunder  and 

flame ; 
Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  drew  back  with  her  dead 

and  her  shame. 
For  some  were  sunk  and  many  were  shattered,  and  so  could  fight 

us  no  more  — 
God  of  battles,  was  ever  a  battle  like  this  in  the  world  before  ? 


THE  REVENGE  85 

For  he  said,  "Fight  on  !  fight  on  !  " 

Though  his  vessel  was  all  but  a  wreck ; 

And  it  chanced  that,  when  half  of  the  summer  night  was  gone, 

With  a  grisly  wound  to  be  drest,  he  had  left  the  deck, 

But  a  bullet  struck  him  that  was  dressing  it  suddenly  dead, 

And  himself,  he  was  wounded  again  in  the  side  and  the  head. 

And  he  said,  "  Fight  on  !  fight  on  !  " 

And  the  night  went  down,  and  the  sun  smiled  out  far  over  the 

summer  sea, 
And  the  Spanish  fleet  with  broken  sides  lay  round  us  all  in  a  ring ; 
But  they  dared  not  touch  us  again,  for  they  feared  that  we  still 

could  sting, 
So  they  watched  what  the  end  would  be. 
And  we  had  not  fought  them  in  vain, 
But  in  perilous  plight  were  we, 
Seeing  forty  of  our  poor  hundred  were  slain, 
And  half  of  the  rest  of  us  maimed  for  life 
In  the  crash  of  the  cannonades  and  the  desperate  strife ; 
And  the  sick  men  down  in  the  hold  were  most  of  them  stark  and 

cold. 
And  the  pikes  were  all  broken  or  bent,  and  the  powder  was  all  of 

it  spent ; 
And  the  masts  and  the  rigging  were  lying  over  the  side ; 

But  Sir  Richard  cried  in  his  English  pride, 

"  We  have  fought  such  a  fight,  for  a  day  and  a  night, 

As  may  never  be  fought  again  ! 

We  have  won  great  glory,  my  men  1 

And  a  day  less  or  more 

At  sea  or  ashore, 

We  die — does  it  matter  when  ? 

Sink  me  the  ship.  Master  Gunner — sink  her,  split  her  in  twain  ! 

Fall  into  the  hands  of  God,  not  into  the  hands  of  Spain  !  " 


86  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

And  the  gunner  said  "  Ay,  ay,"  but  the  seamen  made  reply: 

"  We  have  children,  we  have  wives, 

And  the  Lord  hath  spared  our  lives. 

We  will  make  the  Spaniard  promise,  if  we  yield,  to  let  us  go ; 

We  shall  live  to  fight  again  and  to  strike  another  blow." 

And  the  lion  there  lay  dying,  and  they  yielded  to  the  foe. 

And  the  stately  Spanish  men  to  their  flag-ship  bore  him  then, 
Where  they  laid  him  by  the  mast,  old  Sir  Richard  caught  at  last. 
And  they  praised  him  to  his  face  with  their  courtly  foreign  grace ; 
But  he  rose  upon  their  decks,  and  he  cried  : 
"  I  have  fought  for  Queen  and  Faith  like  a  valiant  man  and  true; 
I  have  only  done  my  duty  as  a  man  is  bound  to  do : 
With  a  joyful  spirit  I,  Sir  Richard  Grenville,  die  !  " 
And  he  fell  upon  their  decks,  and  he  died. 

And  they  stared  at  the  dead  that  had  been  so  valiant  and  true, 
And  had  holden  the  power  and  glory  of  Spain  so  cheap 
That  he  dared  her  with  one  little  ship  and  his  English  few; 
Was  he  devil  or  man  ?     He  was  devil  for  aught  they  knew, 
But  they  sank  his  body  with  honor  down  into  the  deep. 
And  they  manned  the  Revenge  with  a  swarthier,  alien  crew, 
And  away  she  sailed  with  her  loss  and  longed  for  her  own ; 

When  a  wind  from  the  lands  they  had  ruined  awoke  from  sleep, 

And  the  water  began  to  heave  and  the  weather  to  moan, 

And  or  ever  that  evening  ended,  a  great  gale  blew. 

And  a  wave  like  the  wave  that  is  raised  by  an  earthquake  grew, 

Till  it  smote  on  their  hulls  and  their  sails  and  their  masts  and 

their  flags, 
And  the  whole  sea  plunged  and  fell  on  the  shot-shattered  navy  of 

Spain, 
And  the  little  Revenge  herself  went  down  by  the  island  crags, 
To  be  lost  evermore  in  the  main. 


XI 

A   Legend  of  Bregenz 

This  is  a  story  of  the  old  city  of  Bregenz  that  stands  on 
the  shore  of  Lake  Constance,  on  the  borders  of  Switzer- 
land, Germany,  and  that  province  of  Austria  called  the 
Tyrol.  A  girl  of  Bregenz  left  her  home  and  went  to  a 
Swiss  village  to  live.  She  entered  a  household  there, 
taught  her  master's  children,  and  tended  his  cattle. 
The  people  were  kind  to  her,  and  in  time  she  forgot 
that  she  w^as  among  strangers.  But  one  day  she 
learned  that  the  Swiss  were  planning  to  attack  Bregenz 
by  stealth.  Instantly  all  her  old  love  of  home  awoke. 
She  stole  from  the  house  at  night,  mounted  a  horse, 
and  rode  to  Bregenz,  hoping  to  warn  the  city  before 
the  Swiss  soldiers  should  arrive.  She  had  to  cross  the 
Rhine,  but  her  steed  carried  her  safely  over,  and  she 
reached  Bregenz  in  time. 

The  brave  girl  became  the  greatest  heroine  of  her 
city ;  a  picture  of  her  on  her  charger  is  carved  over  the 
stone  gateway  on  the  hill,  and  the  watchman  of  Bregenz 
calls  her  name  each  midnight. 

A  LEGEND  OF  BREGENZ 

By  Adelaide  A.  Procter 

Girt  round  with  rugged  mountains  the  fair  Lake  Constance  lies; 
In  her  bhae  heart  reflected,  shine  back  the  starry  skies ; 
And,  watching  each  white  cloudlet  float  silently  and  slow. 
You  think  a  piece  of  heaven  lies  on  our  earth  below  I 


88  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Midnight  is  there;  and  silence,  enthroned  in  heaven,  looks  down 

Upon  her  own  cahn  mirror,  upon  a  sleeping  town  : 

For  Bregenz,  that  quaint  city  upon  the  Tyrol  shore, 

Has  stood  above  Lake  Constance  a  thousand  years  and  more. 

Her  battlements  and  towers,  upon  their  rocky  steep. 

Have  cast  their  trembling  shadows  for  ages  on  the  deep; 

Mountain  and  lake  and  valley,  a  sacred  legend  know, 

Of  how  the  town  was  saved  one  night,  three  hundred  years  ago. 

Far  from  her  home  and  kindred  a  Tyrol  maid  had  fled. 
To  serve  in  the  Swiss  valleys,  and  toil  for  daily  bread ; 
And  every  year  that  fleeted  so  silently  and  fast 
Seem'd  to  bear  further  from  her  the  memory  of  the  past. 

She  served  kind,  gentle  masters,  nor  ask'd  for  rest  or  change ; 
Her  friends  seem'd  no  more  new  ones,  their  speech  seem'd  no 

more  strange ; 
And,  when  she  led  her  cattle  to  pasture  every  day, 
She  ceased  to  look  and  wonder  on  which  side  Bregenz  lay. 

She  spoke  no  more  of  Bregenz,  vi^ith  longing  and  with  tears  ; 
Her  Tyrol  home  seem'd  faded  in  a  deep  mist  of  years; 
She  heeded  not  the  rumors  of  Austrian  war  or  strife ; 
Each  day  she  rose,  contented,  to  the  calm  toils  of  life. 

Yet,  when  her  master's  children  would  clustering  round  her  stand, 
She  sang  them  the  old  ballads  of  her  own  native  land ; 
And,  when  at  morn  and  evening  she  knelt  before  God's  throne, 
The  accents  of  her  childhood  rose  to  her  lips  alone. 

And  so  she  dwelt :  the  valley  more  peaceful  year  by  year ; 
When  suddenly  strange  portents  of  some  great  deed  seem'd  near. 
The  golden  corn  was  bending  upon  its  fragile  stalk. 
While  farmers,  heedless  of  their  fields,  paced  up  and  down  in 
talk. 


A  LEGEND  OF  BREGENZ  89 

The  men  seem'd  stern  and  alter'd,  with  looks  cast  on  the  ground; 
With  anxious  faces,  one  by  one,  the  women  gather' d  round ; 
All  talk  of  flax,  or  spinning,  or  work,  was  put  away ; 
The  very  children  seem'd  afraid  to  go  alone  to  play. 

One  day,  out  in  the  meadow  with  strangers  from  the  town, 
Some  secret  plan  discussing,  the  men  walk'd  up  and  down. 
Yet  now  and  then  seem'd  watching  a  strange,  uncertain  gleam, 
That  look'd  like  lances  'mid  the  trees  that  stood  below  the  stream. 

At  eve  they  all  assembled,  all  care  and  doubt  were  fled ; 
With  jovial  laugh  they  feasted,  the  board  was  nobly  spread. 
The  elder  of  the  village  rose  up,  his  glass  in  hand. 
And  cried,  "  We  drink  the  downfall  of  an  accursed  land  ! 

"  The  night  is  growing  darker ;  ere  one  more  day  is  flown 
Bregenz,  our  foeman's  stronghold,  Bregenz  shall  be  our  own  I  " 
The  women  shrank  in  terror,  (yet  pride,  too,  had  her  part,) 
But  one  poor  Tyrol  maiden  felt  death  within  her  heart. 

Before  her  stood  fair  Bregenz,  once  more  her  towers  arose ; 
What  were  the  friends  beside  her?     Only  her  country's  foes  ! 
The  faces  of  her  kinsfolk,  the  days  of  childhood  flown, 
The  echoes  of  her  mountains,  reclaim' d  her  as  their  own  ! 

Nothing  she  heard  around  her,  (though  shouts  rang  forth  again,) 
Gone  were  the  green  Swiss  valleys,  the  pasture,  and  the  plain  ; 
Before  her  eyes  one  vision,  and  in  her  heart  one  cry. 
That  said,  "Go  forth,  save  Bregenz,  and  then,  if  need  be,  die  !  " 

With  trembling  haste  and  breathless,  with  noiseless  step  she  sped  ; 
Horses  and  weary  cattle  were  standing  in  the  shed  ; 
She  loosed  the  strong  white  charger,  that  fed  from  out  her  hand, 
She  mounted  and  she  turn'd  his  head  towards  her  native  land. 


90  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Out — out  into  the  darkness — faster,  and  still  more  fast ; 
The  smooth  grass  flies  behind  her,  the  chestnut  wood  is  pass'd ; 
She  looks  up ;  clouds  are  heavy  :   Why  is  her  steed  so  slow  ?  — 
Scarcely  the  wind  beside  them  can  pass  them  as  they  go. 

"Faster!"    she  cries,   "  O,   faster!"     Eleven  the  church-bells 

chime : 
"O  God,"    she   cries,    "help  Bregenz,  and  bring  me  there  in 

time  !  " 
But  louder  than  bells'  ringing,  or  lowing  of  the  kine. 
Grows  nearer  in  the  midnight  the  rushing  of  the  Rhine, 

Shall  not  the  roaring  waters  their  headlong  gallop  check  ? 
The  steed  draws  back  in  terror,  she  leans  above  his  neck 
To  watch  the  flowing  darkness,  the  bank  is  high  and  steep; 
One  pause, — he  staggers  forward,  and  plunges  in  the  deep. 

She  strives  to  pierce  the  blackness,  and  looser  throws  the  rein ; 
Her  steed  must  breast  the  waters  that  dash  above  his  mane ; 
How  gallantly,  how  nobly,  he  struggles  through  the  foam. 
And  see,  in  the  far  distance  shine  out  the  lights  of  home  I 

Up  the  steep  bank  he  bears  her,  and  now  they  rush  again 
Toward  the  heights  of  Bregenz,  that  tower  above  the  plain. 
They  reach  the  gate  of  Bregenz  just  as  the  midnight  rings. 
And  out  come  serf  and  soldier  to  meet  the  news  she  brings. 

Bregenz  is  saved  !     Ere  daylight  her  battlements  are  mann'd; 
Defiance  greets  the  army  that  marches  on  the  land  : 
And,  if  to  deeds  heroic  should  endless  fame  be  paid, 
Bregenz  does  well  to  honor  the  noble  Tyrol  maid. 

Three  hundred  years  are  vanish'd,  and  yet  upon  the  hill 
An  old  stone  gateway  rises,  to  do  her  honor  still. 
And  there,  when  Bregenz  women  sit  spinning  in  the  shade. 
They  see  in  quaint  old  carving  the  charger  and  the  maid. 


A  LEGEND  OF  BREGENZ  91 

And  when,  to  guard  old  Brcgenz,  by  gateway,  street,  and  tower, 
The  warder  paces  all  night  long,  and  calls  each  passing  hour : 
"Nine,"  "ten,"  "eleven,"  he  cries  aloud,  and  then  (O  crown 

of  fame  !  ) 
When  midnight  pauses  in  the  skies  he  calls  the  maiden's  name. 


XII 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers 

A  LITTLE  band  of  English  men  and  women,  who 
had  left  their  homes  because  of  religious  persecution, 
sailed  from  Southampton,  in  England,  on  August  15, 
1620.  They  had  two  vessels,  the  Mayflower  and  the 
Speediuell.  The  Speedivcll  soon  proved  unseaworthy 
and  had  to  put  back  to  Plymouth  for  repairs,  while 
twelve  of  her  thirty  voyagers  were  added  to  the  ninety 
who  were  already  on  board  the  Mayflower. 

Nine  weeks  later  land  was  sighted,  and  on  the 
evening  of  November  19,  1620,  the  pilgrims  brought 
their  ship  into  what  came  to  be  known  as  Cape  Cod 
harbor.  Two  days  later  the  Mayflower  dropped  anchor 
off  what  is  now  Provincetown,  which  is  the  extreme 
point  of  Cape  Cod,  and  a  band  of  sixteen  men,  headed 
by  Captain  Miles  Standish,  landed  to  explore  the 
shore.  The  first  actual  settlement  was  made  a  month 
later,  on  December  21,  1620,  at  Plymouth,  a  more  pro- 
tected harbor  than  that  of  Provincetown. 

This  desire  of  the  Pilgrims  for  a  place  where  they 
might  be  free  to  worship  God  as  they  pleased  was  the 
cause  of  the  founding  of  the  first  colony  in  New 
England. 


r 
> 

o 

5 

o 
•n 


LANDING  OF  THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS      93 

LANDING  OF  THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS 
By  Felicia  Dorothea  Hematis 

The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 

On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 
And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky 

Their  giant  branches  tossed  ; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark, 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted,  came  ; 
Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums, 

And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame ; 

Not  as  the  flying  come, 

In  silence  and  in  fear  ; 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert  gloom 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang, 

And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea  ; 
And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 

To  the  anthem  of  the  free. 

The  ocean  eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  white  wave's  foam ; 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared  — 

This  was  their  welcome  home. 


94  HISTORIC  rOEMS  AND  BALLADS 

There  were  men  with  hoary  hair 

Amidst  that  pilgrim  band  : 
Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there, 

Away  from  their  childhood's  land  ? 

There  was  woman's  fearless  eye, 

Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth ; 
There  was  manhood's  brow,  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar  ? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine  ? 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war  ? 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine  ! 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod  ; 

They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found  • 
Freedom  to  worship  God. 


XIII 

The  Cavalier's  Escape 

The  Civil  War  in  England  was  fought  during  the 
years  from  1642  to  1649  between  the  followers  of  King 
Charles  I,  who  were  called  the  "  Cavaliers,"  and  the 
men  led  by  Oliver  Cromwell,  who  sided  with  the 
Parliament,  and  were  called  "  Roundheads,"  because 
they  wore  their  hair  cut  short.  In  this  poem  one  of 
the  Cavaliers  has  met  a  band  of  Roundheads,  and  is 
trying  to  outride  them  and  reach  his  own  men  at  the 
town  of  Salisbury,  five  miles  away.  His  chestnut  mare 
Kate  can  outstrip  both  the  roan  and  the  gray  that  are 
following  her. 

It  is  almost  dawn  as  the  Cavalier  starts.  He  hears 
the  heavy  hoof-beats  of  the  roan,  and  the  quicker  tread 
of  the  gray.  But  Kate  dashes  off  ahead  of  them,  and 
her  rider  doffs  his  hat  in  mock  courtesy  and  wishes  his 
pursuers  good-day.  They  splash  through  the  mire 
and  come  to  a  gate.  Kate  clears  it,  but  the  others 
falter.  The  Cavalier  gains  a  lead,  but  soon  the 
Roundheads  are  close  behind  him  again.  He  turns 
like  a  stag  at  bay,  strikes  a  blow  at  the  first  pursuer 
and  drops  him  from  his  horse  ;  the  second  fires,  but 
misses,  and  the  Cavalier  wounds  him  with  a  stroke  of 
his  sword.  Then  he  fights  his  way  through  the  others 
who  have  caught  up,  and  dashes  on.     The  enemy  fol- 


96  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

low  with  sword  and  match-lock  gun.  They  are  almost 
on  him  when  he  reaches  Salisbury  gate.  One  long 
leap  by  the  faithful  chestnut  steed,  and  he  is  safe 
within  the  town,  leaving  the  Roundheads  bafiled  of 
their  prey. 

The  Cavalier  calls  them  the  "canting  band"  because 
the  Roundheads  were  supposed  to  be  religious  zealots, 
and  fond  of  cant  and  hypocrisy  from  the  standpoint  of 
the  dashing  Cavaliers. 


THE  CAVALIER'S  ESCAPE 
By  Walter  Thornbury 

Trample  !  trample  !  went  the  roan, 

Trap  !  trap !  went  the  gray ; 
But  pad  !  pad  !  pad  !  like  a  thing  that  was  mad, 

My  chestnut  broke  away. 
It  was  just  five  miles  from  Salisbury  town, 

And  but  one  hour  to  day. 

Thud  !  THUD  !  came  on  the  heavy  roan. 

Rap  !  RAP  !   the  mettled  gray  ; 
But  my  chestnut  mare  was  of  blood  so  rare, 

That  she  showed  them  all  the  way. 
Spur  on  !  spur  on  ! — I  doffed  my  hat, 

And  wished  them  all  good-day. 

They  splashed  through  miry  rut  and  pool, — 

Splintered  through  fence  and  rail ; 
But  chestnut  Kate  switched  over  the  gate, — 

I  saw  them  droop  and  tail. 
To  Salisbury  town — but  a  mile  of  down. 

Once  over  this  brook  and  rail. 


THE  CAVALIER'S  ESCAPE  97 

Trap  !  trap  !  I  heard  their  echoing  hoofs 

Past  the  walls  of  mossy  stone ; 
The  roan  flew  on  at  a  staggering  pace, 

But  blood  is  better  than  bone. 
I  patted  old  Kate,  and  gave  her  the  spur, 

For  I  knew  it  was  all  my  own. 

But  trample  !  trample  !  came  their  steeds, 

And  I  saw  their  wolf's  eyes  burn; 
I  felt  like  a  royal  hart  at  bay, 

And  made  me  ready  to  turn. 
I  looked  where  highest  grew  the  May, 

And  deepest  arched  the  fern. 

I  flew  at  the  first  knave's  sallow  throat ; 

One  blow,  and  he  was  down. 
The  second  rogue  fired  twice,  and  missed  ; 

I  sliced  the  villain's  crown, — 
Clove  through  the  rest,  and  flogged  brave  Kate, 

Fast,  fast  to  Salisbury  toivn  ! 

Pad  !  pad  !  they  came  on  the  level  sward, 

Thud  !  thud  !  upon  the  sand, — 
With  a  gleam  of  swords  and  a  burning  match, 

And  a  shaking  of  flag  and  hand  ; 
But  one  long  bound,  and  I  passed  the  gate. 

Safe  from  the  canting  band. 


XIV 

Naseby 

This  poem  represents  the  views  of  a  Roundhead 
soldier  who  fought  in  the  great  civil  war  between 
King  Charles  I  of  England  and  the  Parliamentary 
troops  under  Oliver  Cromwell.  Naseby  is  a  small 
village  in  Northamptonshire,  in  central  England,  and 
one  of  the  most  important  batdes  of  the  war  was 
fought  there  on  June  14,  1645.  The  Roundheads  were 
led  by  Cromwell,  Lord  Fairfax,  and  General  Ireton, 
and  the  Cavaliers,  or  Royal  Army,  by  Prince  Rupert. 
King  Charles  himself  watched  the  battle  from  a  neigh- 
boring hill. 

The  batde  was  a  defeat  for  the  King's  army,  and 
his  troops  w^ere  so  badly  beaten  that  the  Cavaliers  en- 
gaged in  no  more  meetings  with  their  foes.  Not  long 
afterward  Charles  became  a  prisoner  of  the  Parliament, 
and  was  tried  and  beheaded  by  them  in  1649. 

The  Roundheads  were  fond  of  using  phrases  from 
the  Bible,  and  the  speaker  of  this  poem  indulges  in 
many  allusions  to  the  Scriptures.  His  party  called 
themselves  the  Saints  of  God,  and  fought  with  all  the 
bitter  zeal  of  religious  fanatics.  He  refers  most  bitterly 
to  the  Cavaliers  and  their  leaders,  to  the  "man  of 
blood,"  King  Charles,  with  his  long,  curling,  perfumed 


NASEBY  99 

hair,  to  Lord  Astley,  who  commanded  the  Royalist 
infantry,  to  Sir  Marmaduke  Langdale,  and  to  Rupert, 
Prince  Palatine  of  the  Rhine.  In  contrast  to  these  sin- 
ful leaders  the  Roundhead  general  rode  before  his 
troops  with  the  Bible  in  his  hand. 

The  battle  began  with  the  cheers  of  the  two  sides. 
Then  Prince  Rupert  charged,  to  the  sound  of  clarions 
and  drums,  leading,  as  the  Roundhead  says,  his  ruffians 
from  Alsatia,  the  slums  of  London,  and  his  lackeys 
from  the  King's  palace  of  Whitehall.  The  Round- 
heads grasped  their  pikes  and  stood  manfully,  but  the 
charge  broke  their  left  wing.  Major-General  Skippen 
was  wounded,  when  suddenly  Cromwell  himself  dashed 
to  the  rescue  of  that  side  of  his  army.  The  Roundheads 
charged  behind  him,  and  in  their  turn  broke  the  Cava- 
lier line.  Cromwell  pursued ;  the  gallants  retreated, 
trying  to  save  their  heads  that  the  Roundheads  would 
like  to  set  up  on  Temple  Bar  in  London,  where  the 
heads  of  traitors  were  shown  to  public  view  ;  and  King 
Charles  turned  and  fled. 

The  speaker  calls  on  his  friends  to  strip  lockets  and 
gold  from  the  slain  Cavaliers,  and  then  cries  shame  on 
the  luxury-loving  men  who  were  so  fond  of  silks  and 
satins,  of  music,  of  theatres,  and  of  cards.  He  wants 
to  destroy  the  mitre  of  the  Bishops  of  the  Church  of 
England  and  the  crown  of  the  King,  the  wickedness  of 
the  court  and  the  love  of  wealth  of  the  Church.  Ox- 
ford, which  sided  with  Charles,  Durham,  the  seat  of  a 
great  cathedral,  shall  be  downcast,  and  both  the  Roman 
and  the  English  Church  despair. 

"  Naseby  "  gives  a  fine  idea  of  the  bigotry  and  hate 


100  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

of  Cromwell's  men  for  all  the  pomp  and  glamour  of 
King  Charles'  court  and  church. 


NASEBY 
By  Thomas  Babbington^  Lord  Macaulay 

Oh  !  wherefore  come  ye  forth  in  triumph  from  the  north, 
With  your  hands,  and  your  feet,  and  your  raiment  all  red  ? 

And  wherefore  doth  your  rout  send  forth  a  joyous  shout  ? 
And  whence  be  the  grapes  of  the  wine-press  that  ye  tread  ? 

Oh  !  evil  was  the  root,  and  bitter  was  the  fruit, 

And  crimson  was  the  juice  of  the  vintage  that  we  trod ; 

For  we  trampled  on  the  throng  of  the  haughty  and  the  strong. 
Who  sate  in  the  high  places  and  slew  the  saints  of  God. 

It  was  about  the  noon  of  a  glorious  day  of  June, 

That  we  saw  their  banners  dance  and  their  cuirasses  shine, 

And  the  man  of  blood  was  there,  with  his  long  essenced  hair. 
And  Astley,  and  Sir  Marmaduke,  and  Rupert  of  the  Rhine. 

Like  a  servant  of  the  Lord,  with  his  Bible  and  his  sword, 
The  general  rode  along  us  to  form  us  for  the  fight ; 

When  a  murmuring  sound  broke  out,  and  swelled  into  a  shout 
Among  the  godless  horsemen  upon  the  tyrant's  right. 

And  hark  !  like  the  roar  of  the  billows  on  the  shore, 
The  cry  of  battle  rises  along  their  charging  line  : 

For  God  !  for  the  Cause  !  for  the  Church  !  for  the  laws  ! 
For  Charles,  king  of  England,  and  Rupert  of  the  Rhine  ! 


NASEBY  loi 

The  furious  German  comes,  with  his  clarions  and  his  drums, 
His  bravoes  of  Alsatia  and  pages  of  Whitehall ; 

They  are  bursting  on  our  flanks  !     Grasp  your  pikes  !     Close 
your  ranks ! 
For  Rupert  never  comes,  but  to  conquer  or  to  fall. 

They  are  here — they  rush  on — we  are  broken — we  are  gone  — 
Our  left  is  borne  before  them  like  stubble  on  the  blast. 

O  Lord,  put  forth  thy  might !     O  Lord,  defend  the  right ! 
Stand  back  to  back,  in  God's  name  !  and  fight  it  to  the  last ! 

Stout  Skippen  hath  a  wound — the  centre  hath  given  ground. 
Hark  1  Hark  !  what  means  the  trampling  of  horsemen  on 
our  rear  ? 
Whose  banner  do  I  see,  boys?     'Tis  he  !  thank  God  !  'tis  he, 
boys  ! 
Bear  up  another  minute  !     Brave  Oliver  is  here  ! 

Their  heads  all  stooping  low,  their  points  all  in  a  row  : 
Like  a  whirlwind  on  the  trees,  like  a  deluge  on  the  dikes, 

Our  cuirassiers  have  burst  on  the  ranks  of  the  accurst. 
And  at  a  shock  have  scattered  the  forest  of  his  pikes. 

Fast,  fast,  the  gallants  ride,  in  some  safe  nook  to  hide 
Their  coward  heads,  predestined  to  rot  on  Temple  Bar; 

And  he — he  turns  !  he  flies  !  shame  on  those  cruel  eyes 
That  bore  to  look  on  torture,  and  dare  not  look  on  war  ! 

Ho,  comrades  !  scour  the  plain  ;  and  ere  ye  strip  the  slain, 
First  give  another  stab  to  make  your  search  secure  ; 

Then  shake  from  sleeves  and  pockets  their  broad-pieces  and 
lockets, 
The  tokens  of  the  wanton,  the  plunder  of  the  poor. 


102  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Fools  !  your  doublets  shone  with  gold,  and  your  hearts  were 
gay  and  bold, 

When  you  kissed  your  lily  hands  to  your  lemans  to-day ; 
And  to-morrow  shall  the  fox  from  her  chambers  in  the  rocks 

Lead  forth  her  tawny  cubs  to  howl  above  the  prey. 

Where  be  your  tongues,  that  late  mocked  at  heaven,  and  hell, 
and  fate  ? 
And  the  fingers  that  once  were  so  busy  with  your  blades? 
Your  perfumed  satin  clothes,  your  catches  and  your  oaths  ? 
Your  stage  plays  and  your  sonnets,  your  diamonds  and  your 
spades? 

Down  !  down  !  forever  down,  with  the  mitre  and  the  crown  ! 

With  the  Belial  of  the  court,  and  the  Mammon  of  the  Pope  ! 
There  is  woe  in  Oxford  halls,  there  is  wail  in  Durham's  stalls ; 

The  Jesuit  smites  his  bosom,  the  bishop  rends  his  cope. 

And  she  of  the  seven  hills  shall  mourn  her  children's  ills, 
And  tremble  when  she  thinks  on  the  edge  of  England's  sword ; 

And  the  kings  of  earth  in  fear  shall  shudder  when  they  hear 
What  the  hand  of  God  hath  wrought  for  the  houses  and  the 
word ! 


XV 

"Les  Gants  Glaces" 

The  Fronde  was  the  name  given  to  a  civil  war  in 
France  which  lasted  from  1648  to  1652.  The  word 
"fronde"  means  a  "sling"  in  French,  and  the  war 
was  given  that  name  because  it  began  by  the  mob  of 
Paris  throwing  stones  at  the  windows  of  the  houses  of 
the  friends  of  Cardinal  Mazarin,  who  was  fighting 
many  of  the  nobles  of  France. 

Turenne,  a  great  general,  led  a  revolt  against  Cardi- 
nal Mazarin  in  1650.  Turenne  expected  to  receive  aid 
from  the  Spaniards  in  the  Netherlands,  and  a  Spanish 
army  was  ready  to  march  to  join  him  when  the  coun- 
try people  of  the  French  province  of  Champagne  took 
up  arms  to  keep  out  the  foreigners.  One  of  Turenne's 
allies  was  holding  the  town  of  Rethel,  which  lay  in 
Ardennes,  near  the  river  Vosges.  A  battle  was  fought 
there  December  15,  1650,  between  Turenne's  Frondeurs, 
as  his  ^j'l :liers  were  called,  and  the  army  of  Duplessis- 
Pras'iiu,  or,  as  the  name  is  given  in  the  poem,  De  Ras- 
lin.  This  poem  tells  how  the  attacking  army  was  beaten 
back  from  the  walls  by  the  Frondeurs,  until,  goaded 
with  desperation,  the  weary  soldiers  taunted  the  gaily- 
clad  gentlemen  of  the  Household  Brigade,  who  were 
waiting  in  reserve,  and  dared  them  to  advance  on  the 
town. 


104  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

The  "  Gants  Glaces,"  or  "  Kid  Gloves,"  as  the  Brigade 
was  nicknamed,  took  the  challenge,  marched  forward, 
and  carried  the  walls,  although  half  their  number  were 
swept  down  in  the  storm  of  bullets. 

That  charge  of  "  Les  Gants  Glaces  "  won  the  day  for 
Cardinal  Mazarin  and  his  king,  Louis  XIV  of  France. 


"  LES  GANTS  GLACES  " 

Ano7iymous 

Wrapped  in  smoke  stood  the  towers  of  Rethel, 

The  battle  surged  fierce  by  the  town ; 
On  terror  and  struggle  and  turmoil 

The  sweet  skies  of  Champagne  looked  down. 
Far  away  smiled  the  beautiful  uplands, 

The  blue  Vosges  lay  solemn  beyond ; 
Well  France  knew  such  discord  of  color 

In  the  terrible  days  of  the  Fronde. 

At  the  breach  in  the  ramparts  of  Rethel 

Each  stone  was  bought  dearly  by  blood, 
For  De  Raslin  was  leadmg  the  stormers, 

And  Turenne  on  the  battlements  stood. 
Again  and  again  closed  the  conflict, 

The  madness  of  strife  upon  all ; 
Right  well  fought  the  ranks  of  the  marshal, 

Yet  twice  they  fell  back  from  the  wall. 

Twice,  thrice  repulsed,  baffled,  and  beaten. 
They  glared,  where  in  gallant  array, 

Brave  in  gilding  and  'broidery  and  feather, 
The  guards  in  reserve  watched  the  fray. 


"  LES  GANTS  GLACES  "  105 

Go  in,  ye  kid-gloved  dandies  !  "  they  shouted 

As  sullenly  rearward  they  bore  ; 
The  gaps  deep  and  wide  in  their  columns, 

The  lilies  all  dripping  in  gore. 

Come  on,  ye  kid-gloved  dandies  !  "  and  laughing 

At  the  challenge,  the  Household  Brigade 
Dressed  ranks,  floated  standards,  blew  trumpets, 

And  flashed  out  each  glittering  blade. 
And  carelessly  as  to  a  banquet, 

And  joyously  as  to  a  dance. 
Where  the  Frondeurs  in  triumph  were  gathered, 

Went  the  best  blood  of  Scotland  and  France. 

The  gay  plumes  were  shorn  as  in  tempest ; 

The  gay  scarfs  stained  crimson  and  black ; 
Storm  of  bullet  and  broadsword  closed  o'er  them, 

Yet  never  one  proud  foot  turned  back. 
Though  half  of  their  number  lay  silent 

On  the  breach  their  last  effort  had  won. 
King  Louis  was  master  of  Rethel 

Ere  the  day  and  its  story  was  done. 

And  the  fierce  taunting  cry  grew  a  proverb 

Ere  revolt  and  its  horrors  were  past ; 
For  men  knew,  ere  o'er  France's  fair  valleys 

Peace  waved  her  banner  at  last, 
That  the  softest  of  tones  in  the  boudoir, 

The  lightest  of  steps  in  the  "ronde," 
Was  theirs  whose  keen  swords  bit  the  deepest 

In  the  terrible  days  of  the  Fronde. 


XVI 

How  They  Brought  the  Good  News 
from  Ghent  to  Aix 

There  is  no  actual  incident  in  history  such  as  that 
described  in  this  poem,  but  such  an  adventure  might 
very  easily  have  taken  place  during  one  of  the  wars 
in  the  Netherlands.  Three  riders  set  out  from  the  cit}'^ 
of  Ghent,  which  is  in  the  country  now  called  Belgium, 
to  carry  certain  news  to  the  town  of  Aix,  in  Rhenish 
Prussia.  This  news,  if  it  reaches  Aix  in  time,  will  save 
that  town.  The  distance  to  be  covered  is  over  a  hun- 
dred miles. 

The  three  riders,  Joris,  Dirck,  and  the  one  who  tells 
the  story,  set  off  from  Ghent  at  full  speed,  as  the  moon 
is  setting.  The  watch  opens  the  city  gate,  and  they 
gallop  out,  and  race  neck  and  neck  mile  after  mile. 
Dawn  comes  as  they  ride  through  the  towns  of  Lokeren 
and  Boom  and  Diiffeld.  At  Mecheln  they  hear  the 
clock  chime.  The  sun  rises  at  Aerschot.  As  they  near 
Hasselt  Dirck's  horse  staggers  and  falls.  The  other 
two  race  on  past  Looz  and  Tongres. 

As  they  reach  Dalhem  Joris  cries,  "  Aix  is  in  sight  I " 
but  his  roan  drops ;  and  the  man  on  Roland  is  left 
alone  to  carry  the  message.  He  throws  off  his  coat, 
and  boots,  and  belt,  and  urges  Roland  on.     At  last 


HOW  THEY  BROUGHT  THE  GOOD  NEWS    107 

they  reach  Aix,  and  the  noble  horse,  the  hero  of  the 
ride,  falls  as  the  people  crowd  about  him.  The  rider, 
with  Roland's  head  resting  between  his  knees,  pours 
down  his  steed's  throat  the  last  measure  of  wine  left  in 
Aix.  The  "  good  news  "  had  arrived  in  time  to  save 
the  city. 


HOW  THEY  BROUGHT  THE  GOOD  NEWS  FROM 
GHENT  TO  AIX 

By  Robert  Browning 

I  sprang  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris  and  he  : 

I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three ; 
"Good  speed  !  "  cried  the  watch  as  the  gate-bolts  undrew, 
"Speed  !  "  echoed  the  wall  to  us  galloping  through, 

Behind  shut  the  postern,  the  lights  sank  to  rest, 

And  into  the  midnight  we  galloped  abreast. 

Not  a  word  to  each  other ;  we  kept  the  great  pace  — 

Neck  by  neck,  stride  by  stride,  never  changing  our  place; 

I  turned  in  my  saddle  and  made  its  girths  tight, 

Then  shortened  each  stirrup  and  set  the  pique  right, 

Rebuckled  the  check-strap,  chained  slacker  the  bit, 

Nor  galloped  less  steadily  Roland  a  whit.  \- 

'Twas  a  moonset  at  starting ;  but  while  we  drew  near 

Lokeren,  the  cocks  crew  and  twilight  dawned  clear ; 

At  Boom  a  great  yellow  star  came  out  to  see; 

At  Diiffeld  'twas  morning  as  plain  as  could  be  ; 

And  from  Mecheln  church-steeple  wc  heard  the  half  chime  — 

So  Joris  broke  silence  with  "  Yet  there  is  time  !  " 


io8  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  IJALLADS 

At  Aerschot  up  leaped  of  a  sudden  the  sun, 
And  against  him  the  cattle  stood  black  every  one, 
To  stare  through  the  mist  at  us  galloping  past ; 
And  I  saw  my  stout  galloper  Roland  at  last. 
With  resolute  shoulders,  each  butting  away 
The  haze,  as  some  bluff  river  headland  its  spray ; 

And  his  low  head  and  crest,  just  one  sharp  ear  bent  back 
For  my  voice,  and  the  other  pricked  out  on  his  track ; 
And  one  eye's  black  intelligence, — ever  that  glance 
O'er  its  white  edge  at  me,  his  own  master,  askance; 
And  the  thick  heavy  spume- flakes,  which  aye  and  anon 
His  fierce  lips  shook  upward  in  galloping  on. 

By  Hasselt  Dirck  groaned  ;  and  cried  Joris,  "  Stay  spur  ! 
Your  Roos  galloped  bravely,  the  fault's  not  in  her ; 
We'll  remember  at  Aix  " — for  one  heard  the  quick  wheeze 
Of  her  chest,  saw  the  stretched  neck,  and  staggering  knees, 
And  sunk  tail,  and  horrible  heave  of  the  flank. 
As  down  on  her  haunches  she  shuddered  and  sank. 

So  we  were  left  galloping,  Joris  and  I, 

Past  Looz  and  past  Tongres,  no  cloud  in  the  sky ; 

The  broad  sun  above  laughed  a  pitiless  laugh ; 

'Neath  our  feet  broke  the  brittle,  bright  stubble  like  chaff; 

Till  over  by  Dalhem  a  dome-spire  sprang  white. 

And  "Gallop,"  gasped  Joris,  "for  Aix  is  in  sight  !  " 

*  How  they'll  greet  us  !  " — and  all  in  a  moment  his  roan 
Rolled  neck  and  croup  over,  lay  dead  as  a  stone ; 
And  there  was  my  Roland  to  bear  the  whole  weight 
Of  the  news  which  alone  could  save  Aix  from  her  fate, 
With  his  nostrils  like  pits  full  of  blood  to  the  brim. 
And  with  circles  of  red  for  his  eye-sockets'  rim. 


HOW  THEY  BROUGHT  THE  GOOD  NEWS    109 

Then  I  cast  loose  my  buff-coat,  each  holster  let  fall, 

Shook  off  both  my  jack-boots,  let  go  belt  and  all, 

Stood  up  in  the  stirrup,  leaned,  patted  his  ear, 

Called  my  Roland  his  pet-name,  my  horse  without  peer  — 

Clapped  my  hands,  laughed  and  sung,  any  noise,  bad  or  good, 

Till  at  length  into  Aix  Roland  galloped  and  stood. 

And  all  I  remember  is  friends  flocking  round, 

As  I  sate  with  his  head  'twixt  my  knees  on  the  ground ; 

And  no  voice  but  was  praising  this  Roland  of  mine. 

As  I  poured  down  his  throat  our  last  measure  of  wine, 

Which  (the  burgesses  voted  by  common  consent) 

Was  no  more  than  his  due  who  brought  good  news  from  Ghent. 


XVII 

The  Bonnets  of  Bonnie  Dundee 

Sir  Walter  Scott  loved  ballads  of  the  dashing, 
free-riding,  hard-fighting  cavaliers,  and  this  is  one  of 
the  finest  that  he  wrote.  The  "  Bonnets "  were  the 
caps  of  the  Scotch  horsemen,  and  Dundee  was  John 
Graham  of  Claverhouse,  who  was  made  Viscount  of 
Dundee  by  James  II  of  England  in  1688. 

Claverhouse  was  a  leader  of  wonderful  dash  and 
courage,  but  so  cruelly  did  he  treat  the  Scotch  Cove- 
nanters against  whom  he  fought  that  the  country 
people  nicknamed  him  *'  Bloody  Claver'se,"  When 
James  II  was  driven  from  his  throne,  and  William  of 
Orange  became  King  of  England  Claverhouse  planned 
to  raise  an  army  in  Scotland  and,  by  defeating  the 
English  troops,  make  James  king  again.  He  rode  into 
Edinburgh  with  his  troop  of  horsemen.  The  Scottish 
Parliament,  or  "  Lords  of  Convention  "  were  assembled 
there,  and  he  called  on  them  to  follow  his  lead.  He 
bade  them  open  the  Westport,  or  western  gate  of 
Edinburgh,  and  ride  forth  with  him. 

But  the  people  of  Edinburgh  sided  with  King  Will- 
iam, and  so  the  bells  were  rung  backward  and  the 
drums  sounded  to  give  the  alarm.  The  provost,  how- 
ever, bade  the  crowd  let  Claverhouse  go,  knowing  the 
city  would  be  better  off  with  the  wild  cavalier  safely 
out  of  it. 


THE  BONNETS  OF  BONNIE  DUNDEE      iii 

Dundee  rode  down  the  turnings  of  the  West  Bow, 
a  street  where  the  Scottish  Church  had  met.  Every 
•'  carline,"  or  old  woman,  was  scolding  and  shaking  her 
head,  but  the  young  girls,  the  "  plants  of  grace,"  looked 
kindly  and  slyly  at  him,  wishing  luck  to  the  dashing 
soldier. 

In  the  Grass-Market,  a  famous  square  of  the  city,  the 
Whigs,  or  followers  of  King  William,  had  gathered,  as 
if  half  the  west  of  Scodand  had  come  to  a  hanging. 
These  people  had  no  liking  for  Claverhouse,  but  feared 
his  sword.  They  had  pikes  and  spears  and  long- 
handled  knives,  but  they  did  not  dare  to  attack,  and 
stood  close  together,  leaving  the  road  open  to  the 
flaunting  troopers. 

On  a  high  rock  stood  Edinburgh  Castle,  which  was 
held  by  the  Duke  of  Gordon  for  King  James.  Dundee 
rode  to  the  castle  and  bade  the  Duke  fire  Mons  Meg, 
the  great  cannon,  and  the  other  guns,  or  "  marrows," 
on  the  walls.  The  Duke  asked  whither  he  was  riding. 
Dundee  answered  that  he  should  go  wherever  the  shade 
of  the  great  Marquis  of  Montrose,  who  had  fought  and 
died  for  King  Charles  II,  should  lead  him.  He  would 
go  to  the  country  north  of  the  Pentland  Hills  and  the 
Firth  of  Forth,  and  find  followers  among  the  wild 
"  Duniewassals "  or  Scottish  chieftains  who  lived  in 
the  Highlands.  He  would  rather  live  as  an  outlaw 
than  serve  the  Whigs'  King  William,  who  had  usurped 
King  James's  throne.  So  he  waved  his  hand  to  the 
castle,  and  led  his  men  out  of  the  city,  riding  to  the 
north. 

The  cause  of  King  James  was  lost  a  little  later,  and 


112  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Claverhouse  was  killed  in  the  battle  of  Killiecrankie, 
in  1689. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  always  preferred  the  Jacobites  to 
the  Whigs,  and  such  a  man  as  Claverhouse,  with  his 
"  bonnets  of  Bonnie  Dundee,"  appealed  most  strongly 
to  his  love  of  romance.  The  metre  of  this  ballad  has 
the  note  of  galloping  horses,  flashing  swords,  and  the 
reckless  gaiety  of  the  Cavaliers. 


THE  BONNETS  OF  BONNIE  DUNDEE 
By  Sir  Walter  Scott 

To  the  Lords  of  Convention  'twas  Claverhouse  who  spoke, 
"  Ere  the  king's  crown  shall  fall,  there  are  crowns  to  be  broke ; 
So  let  each  cavalier  who  loves  honor  and  me 
Come  follow  the  bonnets  of  bonnie  Dundee  !  " 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can  ; 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up  your  men; 
Come  open  the  Westport  and  let  us  gang  free, 
And  it's  room  for  the  bonnets  of  bonnie  Dundee  ! 

Dundee  he  is  mounted,  he  rides  up  the  street, 
The  bells  are  rung  backward,  the  drums  they  are  beat ; 
But  the  provost,  douce  man,  said,  "  Just  e'en  let  him  be, 
The  gude  toun  is  well  quit  of  that  deil  of  Dundee  !  " 

As  he  rode  doun  the  sanctified  bends  of  the  Bow, 

Ilk  carline  was  flyting  and  shaking  her  pow  ; 

But  the  young  plants  of  grace  they  looked  cowthie  and  slee, 

Thinking,  Luck  to  thy  bonnet,  thou  bonnie  Dundee ! 


THE  BONNETS  OF  BONNIE  DUNDEE      113 

With  sour-featured  wliigs  the  Grass-Market  was  thranged, 
As  if  half  the  west  had  set  tryst  to  be  hanged  ; 
There  was  spite  in  each  look,  there  was  fear  in  each  ee, 
As  they  watched  for  the  bonnets  of  bonnie  Dundee. 

These  cowls  of  Kilmarnock  had  spits  and  had  spears, 
And  lang-hafted  gullies  to  kill  cavaliers ; 
But  they  shrunk  to  close-heads,  and  the  causeway  was  free 
At  the  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  bonnie  Dundee. 

He  spurred  to  the  foot  of  the  proud  castle  rock, 

And  with  the  gay  Gordon  he  gallantly  spoke : 

"  Let  Mons  Meg  and  her  marrows  speak  twa  words  or  three. 

For  the  love  of  the  bonnet  of  bonnie  Dundee." 

The  Gordon  demands  of  him  which  way  he  goes. 
"  Where'er  shall  direct  me  the  shade  of  Montrose  ! 
Your  grace  in  short  space  shall  hear  tidings  of  me, 
Or  that  low  lies  the  bonnet  of  bonnie  Dundee. 

There  are  hills  beyond  Pentland  and  lands  beyond  Forth  ; 
If  there's  lords  in  the  lowlands,  there's  chiefs  in  the  north ; 
There  are  wild  Duniewassals  three  thousand  times  three 
Will  cry  '  Hoigh  !  '  for  the  bonnet  of  bonnie  Dundee. 

There's  brass  on  the  target  of  barkened  bull-hide, 
There's  steel  in  the  scabbard  that  dangles  beside  ; 
The  brass  shall  be  burnished,  the  steel  shall  flash  free, 
At  a  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  bonnie  Dundee. 

"  Away  to  the  hills,  to  the  caves,  to  the  rocks. 
Ere  I  own  an  usuriier  I'll  couch  with  the  fox  : 
And  tremble,  false  whigs,  in  the  midst  of  your  glee, 
You  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet  and  me." 


H4        .  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

He  waved  his  proud  hand,  and  the  trumpets  were  blown, 
The  kettle-drums  clashed,  and  the  horsemen  rode  on, 
Till  on  Ravelston's  cliffs  and  on  Clermiston's  lea 
Died  away  the  wild  war-notes  of  bonnie  Dundee. 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can, 
Come  saddle  the  horses,  and  call  up  the  men  ; 
Come  open  your  doors  and  let  me  gaefree. 
For  it's  up  with  the  bonnets  of  bonnie  Dundee. 


XVIII 

Herve  Riel 

The  poet  Robert  Browning  discovered  the  story  of 
a  brave  Breton  sailor  and  wrote  tiiis  poem  concerning 
it.  At  first  it  was  doubted  whether  the  story  was  true, 
but  a  search  of  the  records  of  the  French  navy  proved 
that  the  facts  described  actually  happened. 

The  events  took  place  during  the  war  between 
Louis  XIV  of  France  and  William  III  of  England  in 
1692.  The  French  king  was  fighting  the  English  in 
order  to  try  to  restore  James  II  to  his  throne.  Ad- 
miral Tourville,  and  the  French  fleet  joined  battle  with 
the  English  off  Cape  La  Hogue,  and  were  defeated 
there  May  31,  1692.  The  French  ships  were  put  to 
flight  and  headed  for  the  old  fortified  seaport  of 
St.  Malo  on  the  Brittany  coast  at  the  mouth  of  the 
river  Ranee. 

The  great  fleet,  sailing  full  in  the  wind,  signaled  to 
St.  Malo  to  give  them  harbor  or  the  English  would 
take  them.  The  pilots  of  St.  Malo  put  out  in  their 
small  boats  and  reached  the  fleet,  but  told  the  captains 
it  would  be  impossible  to  steer  such  great  vessels 
through  the  narrow  channel  and  up  the  shallows  of  the 
Ranee. 

The  French  captains  called  a  council,  and  were  about 
to  order  their  ships  beached  and  set  on  fire  rather  than 


ii6  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

surrendered  when  a  simple  coasting-pilot,  named  Herve 
Riel,  a  sailor  from  the  Breton  town  of  La  Croisic,  who 
had  been  pressed  into  service  by  Admiral  Tourville, 
stepped  out  and  told  them  he  knew  every  turn  of  the 
channel  and  could  take  the  fleet  through.  He  asked 
them  to  let  him  steer  the  biggest  ship,  the  Formidable^ 
and  he  would  save  them  all,  or  pay  the  price  of  failure 
with  his  head. 

The  captains  gave  the  Breton  pilot  charge,  and  true 
to  his  word  he  steered  the  whole  fleet  up  the  Ranee  to 
safety.  The  English  ships  reached  the  harbor  just  in 
time  to  see  the  French  escape  them. 

Captains  and  men  cheered  Herve  Riel,  and  Damfre- 
ville,  in  command,  told  him  to  name  his  own  reward 
and,  whatever  it  might  be,  he  should  have  it.  For  his 
great  service  Herve  Riel  simply  asked  for  a  day's  holi- 
day in  order  that  he  might  go  back  to  La  Croisic  to 
see  his  wife,  whom  he  called  "  La  Belle  Aurore." 

To  complete  his  poem  Browning  says  that  there  is 
no  record  of  the  brave  sailor  in  his  native  town  nor 
among  the  heroes  of  France  who  are  painted  in  the 
Louvre  at  Paris,  and  offers  the  tribute  of  his  verse  to 
the  daring  man  who  saved  the  French  fleet  from  the 
English  and  for  reward  asked  to  see  his  wife. 

Browning  wrote  this  poem  at  the  time  when  Paris 
was  besieged  by  the  Germans  in  the  winter  of  1870- 
187 1.  He  sent  it  to  the  Cornhill  Magazine,  saying 
they  might  have  it  for  ;^ioo,  which  he  would  give  to 
the  fund  to  aid  the  starving  people  of  Paris.  The 
money  was  paid  him,  and  given  to  help  the  French 
when  the  siege  had  ended. 


HERV£  KIEL  117 

HERVE  KIEL 
By  Robert  Browning 

I 
On  the  sea  and  at  the  Hogue,  sixteen  hundred  ninety-two, 

Did  the  EngHsh  fight  the  French, — woe  to  France  ! 
And,  the  thirty-first  of  May,  helter-skelter  through  the  blue, 
Like  a  crowd  of  frightened  porpoises  a  shoal  of  sharks  pursue, 

Came  crowding  ship  on  ship  to  Saint  Malo  on  the  Ranee, 
With  the  English  fleet  in  view. 

II 

'Twas  the  squadron  that  escaped,  with  the  victor  in  full  chase ; 
First  and  foremost  of  the  drove,  in  his  great  ship,  Damfreville  j 
Close  on  him  fled,  great  and  small. 
Twenty-two  good  ships  in  all ; 
And  they  signaled  to  the  place 
*'  Help  the  winners  of  a  race  ! 

Get  us  guidance,  give  us  harbor,  take  us  quick — or,  quickerstill, 
Here's  the  English  can  and  will !" 

Ill 
Then  the  pilots  of  the  place  put  out  brisk  and  leapt  on  board ; 
"  Why,  what  hope  or  chance  have  ships  like  these  to  pass?  " 
laughed  they : 
«•  Rocks  to  starboard,  rocks  to  port,  all  the  passage  scarred  and 
scored, 
Shall  the  Formidable  here  with  her  twelve  and  eighty  guns 
Think  to  make  the  river-mouth  by  the  single  narrow  way. 
Trust  to  enter  where  'tis  ticklish  for  a  craft  of  twenty  tons, 
And  with  flow  at  full  beside  ? 
Now,  'tis  slackest  ebb  of  tide. 
Reach  the  mooring  ?     Rather  say, 
While  rock  stands  or  water  runs, 
Not  a  ship  will  leave  the  bay  I  " 


Il8  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

IV 
Then  was  called  a  council  straight. 
Brief  and  bitter  the  debate  : 
*'  Here's  the  English  at  our  heels;  would  you  have  them  take  in  tow 
All  that's  left  us  of  the  fleet,  linked  together  stern  and  bow, 
For  a  prize  to  Plymouth  Sound  ? 
Better  run  the  ships  aground  !  " 

(Ended  Damfreville  his  speech). 
"  Not  a  minute  more  to  wait ! 

Let  the  Captains  all  and  each 

Shove  ashore,  then  blow  up,  burn  the  vessels  on  the  beach  ! 
France  must  undergo  her  fate. 

V 
"  Give  the  word  I  "     But  no  such  word 
Was  ever  spoke  or  heard  ; 

For  up  stood,  for  out  stepped,  for  in  struck  amid  all  these 
— A  Captain  ?     A  Lieutenant  ?     A  Mate — first,  second,  third  ? 
No  such  man  of  mark,  and  meet 
With  his  betters  to  compete  ! 

But  a  simple  Breton  sailor  pressed  by  Tourville  for  the  fleet, 
A  poor  coasting-pilot  he,  Herve  Riel  the  Croisickese. 

VI 
And  "What  mockery  or  malice  have  we  here?"  cries  Herve  Riel : 
"Are  you  mad,  you  Malouins?     Are  you  cowards,  fools,  or 
rogues  ? 
Talk  to  me  of  rocks  and  shoals,  me  who  took  the  soundings,  tell 
On  my  fingers  every  bank,  every  shallow,  every  swell 

'Twixt   the   offing  here  and   Grdve  where  the  river  disem- 
bogues ? 
Are  you  bought  by  English  gold  ?     Is  it  love  the  lying's  for? 
Morn  and  eve,  night  and  day, 
Have  I  piloted  your  bay. 
Entered  free  and  anchored  fast  at  the  foot  of  Solidor. 


HERVl:  RIEL  119 

Bum  the  fleet  and  ruin  France  ?     That  were  worse  than  fifty 
Hogues  ! 
Sirs,   they  know  I  speak  the  truth  !     Sirs,   believe   me, 
there's  a  way  ! 
Only  let  me  lead  the  line, 

Have  the  biggest  ship  to  steer, 
Get  this  For^nidable  clear, 
Make  the  others  follow  mine, 

And  I  lead  them,  most  and  least,  by  a  passage  I  know  well, 
Right  to  Solidor  past  Greve, 

And  there  lay  them  safe  and  sound  ; 
And  if  one  ship  misbehave, 
— Keel  so  much  as  grate  the  ground. 
Why,  I've  nothing  but  my  life, — here's  my  head  I  "  cries  Herv6 
Riel. 

VII 
Not  a  minute  more  to  wait. 
Steer  us  in,  then,  small  and  great ! 

Take  the  helm, lead  theline,savethesquadron ! "  cried  its  chief. 
Captains,  give  the  sailor  place  ! 

He  is  Admiral,  in  brief. 
Still  the  north-wind,  by  God's  grace  I 
See  the  noble  fellow's  face 
As  the  big  ship,  with  a  bound. 
Clears  the  entry  like  a  hoiuid, 
Keeps  the  passage  as  its  inch  of  way  were  the  wide  sea's  profound  ! 

See,  safe  through  shoal  and  rock, 

How  they  follow  in  a  flock, 
Not  a  ship  that  misbehaves,  not  a  keel  that  grates  the  ground, 

Not  a  spar  that  comes  to  grief ! 
The  peril,  see,  is  past, 
All  are  harbored  to  the  last, 

And  just  as  Herve  Riel  hollas  "Anchor  !  " — sure  as  fate, 
Up  the  English  come — too  late  ! 


120         HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

VIII 
So,  the  storm  subsides  to  calm : 

They  see  the  green  trees  wave 

On  the  heights  o'erlooking  Grdve. 
Hearts  that  bleii  are  stanched  with  balm. 
"  Just  our  rapture  to  enhance, 

Let  the  EngHsh  rake  the  bay. 
Gnash  their  teeth  and  glare  askance 

As  they  cannonade  away  ! 
'Neath  rampired  Solidor  pleasant  riding  on  the  Ranee  !  " 
How  hope  succeeds  despair  on  each  Captain's  countenance  1 
Out  burst  all  with  one  accord, 

"  This  is  Paradise  for  Hell ! 
Let  France,  let  France's  king 
Thank  the  man  that  did  the  thing  !  " 
What  a  shout,  and  all  one  word, 

•'HerveRiel  !" 
As  he  stepped  in  front  once  more, 

Not  a  symptom  of  surprise 

In  the  frank  blue  Breton  eyes, 
Just  the  same  man  as  before. 


Then  said  Damfreville,  "  My  friend, 
I  must  speak  out  at  the  end, 

Though  I  find  the  speaking  hard. 
Praise  is  deeper  than  the  lips  :  , 

You  have  saved  the  King  his  ships, 

You  must  name  your  own  reward. 
'Faith  our  sun  was  near  eclipse  ! 
Demand  whate'er  you  will, 
France  remains  your  debtor  still. 

Ask  to  heart's  content  and  have  !  or  my  name's  not  Damfre- 
ville." 


HERVE  KIEL  121 

X 

Then  a  beam  of  fun  outbroke 
On  the  bearded  mouth  that  spoke, 
As  the  honest  heart  laughed  through 
Those  frank  eyes  of  Breton  blue  : 
"  Since  I  needs  must  say  my  say, 

Since  on  board  the  duty's  done. 

And  from  Malo  Roads  to  Croisic  Point,  what  is  it  but  a 
run?  — 
Since  'tis  ask  and  have,  I  may  — 

Since  the  others  go  ashore  — 
Come  !     A  good  whole  holiday  ! 

Leave  to  go  and  see  my  wife,  whom  I  call  the  Belle  Aurore ! " 

That  he  asked  and  that  he  got,— nothing  more. 

XI 

Name  and  deed  alike  are  lost : 
Not  a  pillar  nor  a  post 

In  his  Croisic  keeps  alive  the  feat  as  it  befell ; 
Not  a  head  in  white  and  black 
On  a  single  fishing-smack, 
In  memory  of  the  man  but  for  whom  had  gone  to  wrack 

All  that  France  saved  from  the  fight  whence  England  bore 
the  bell. 
Go  to  Paris  :   rank  on  rank 

« 

Search  the  heroes  flung  pell-mell 
On  the  Louvre,  face  and  flank  ! 

You  shall  look  long  enough  ere  you  come  to  Herv6  Riel. 
So,  for  better  and  for  worse, 
Herv6  Riel,  accept  my  verse  ! 
In  my  verse,  Herve  Riel,  do  thou  once  more 
Save  the  squadron,  honor  France,  love  thy  wife  the  Belle  Aurore ! 


XIX 

The  Leak  in  the  Dike 

A  GREAT  part  of  the  land  of  Holland  is  lower  than 
the  level  of  the  sea  about  its  shores.  For  this  reason 
that  country  and  the  provinces  that  adjoin  it  gained 
the  name  of  "The  Low  Countries,"  or  "The  Nether- 
lands." In  order  to  keep  the  sea  from  flooding  their 
homes  the  Hollanders  built  great  walls  of  earth,  called 
dikes,  and  spent  large  sums  of  money  in  repairing 
them.  The  smallest  leak  was  a  tremendous  danger. 
In  a  very  short  time  it  would  cause  a  break  in  the  dike 
and  let  the  ocean  in  to  sweep  across  farms  and  cities. 

Sometimes,  when  the  country  was  at  war  with  Spain, 
or  some  of  the  other  great  powers  that  tried  to  conquer 
it,  the  people  of  Holland  would  break  the  dikes  them- 
selves, and  flood  their  country  in  order  to  defeat  the 
invaders.  This  was  a  very  costly  method  of  defense, 
but  several  times  the  brave  people  had  to  resort  to  it. 

Phoebe  Gary,  an  American  poet,  wrote  this  poem  of 
a  Dutch  boy  named  Peter.  His  mother  sent  him  at 
sunset  one  day  to  carry  some  cakes  to  an  old  man  who 
lived  near  the  dike.  He  did  the  errand,  and  turned 
homeward,  stopping  to  pick  some  flowers  on  the  way. 
As  he  walked  along  he  heard  the  angry  sea  dashing 
against  the  wall  that  kept  it  out,  and  he  thought  it  was 


THE  LEAK  IN  THE  DIKE  123 

well  that  the  wall  was  strong  and  that  his  father  and 
other  men  watched  it  carefully. 

Presently  he  heard  a  trickling  noise.  He  looked  for 
it,  and  saw  a  small  stream,  not  as  large  as  his  hand, 
coming  through  the  dike.  He  knew  what  that  meant. 
If  it  was  not  stopped  the  leak  would  tear  down  the 
wall,  the  sea  would  sweep  in,  and  destroy  hundreds  of 
villages.  No  one  was  there  to  help  him,  and  there  was 
no  time  to  lose.  So  he  pressed  his  hand  to  the  crack 
and  held  it  there  while  he  called  again  and  again  for 
aid. 

No  one  came,  and  Peter  had  to  stay,  holding  back 
the  sea,  while  the  night  passed.  His  mother  wondered 
what  had  happened  to  him,  and  was  up  at  dawn  look- 
ing across  the  fields  for  him.  After  a  while  she  saw 
some  neighbors  coming  toward  her,  carrying  some 
one.  They  had  found  the  boy  at  his  post  of  duty,  and 
they  brought  him  back  alive  to  his  mother.  By  hold- 
ing the  sea  outside  the  dike  he  had  saved  his  country. 

This  story  has  been  told  many  times  in  prose  and 
poetry.  It  is  one  of  the  legends  of  Holland  that  fathers 
tell  their  sons  when  the  boys  are  old  enough  to  under- 
stand how  the  dikes  divide  the  land  from  the  sea. 


THE  LEAK  IN  THE  DIKE 
By  Phoebe  Cary 

The  good  dame  looked  from  her  cottage 
At  the  close  of  the  pleasant  day, 

And  cheerily  called  to  her  little  son 
Outside  the  door  at  play : 


124  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

"  Come,  Peter,  come  !     I  want  you  to  go, 

While  there  is  light  to  see. 
To  the  hut  of  the  blind  old  man  who  lives 

Across  the  dike,  for  me  ; 
And  take  these  cakes  I  made  for  him  — 

They  are  hot  and  smoking  yet ; 
You  have  time  enough  to  go  and  come 

Before  the  sun  is  set." 

Then  the  good  wife  turned  to  her  labor, 

Humming  a  simple  song, 
And  thought  of  her  husband,  working  hard 

At  the  sluices  all  day  long ; 
And  set  the  turf  a-blazing, 

And  brought  the  coarse,  black  bread, 
That  he  might  find  a  fire  at  night. 

And  see  the  table  spread. 

And  Peter  left  the  brother 

With  whom  all  day  he  had  played, 
And  the  sister  who  had  watched  their  sports 

In  the  willow's  tender  shade ; 
And  told  them  they'd  see  him  back  before 

They  saw  a  star  in  sight  — 
Though  he  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  go 

In  the  very  darkest  night ! 
For  he  was  a  brave,  bright  fellow, 

With  eye  and  conscience  clear ; 
He  could  do  whatever  a  boy  might  do. 

And  he  had  not  learned  to  fear. 
Why,  he  wouldn't  have  robbed  a  bird's  nest. 

Nor  brought  a  stork  to  harm, 
Though  never  a  law  in  Holland 

Had  stood  to  stay  his  arm  ! 


THE  LEAK  IN  THE  DIKE  125 

And  now,  with  his  face  all  glowing, 

And  eyes  as  bright  as  the  day 
With  the  thoughts  of  his  pleasant  errand, 

He  trudged  along  the  way ; 
And  soon  his  joyous  prattle 

Made  glad  a  lonesome  place  — 
Alas  !  if  only  the  blind  old  man 

Could  have  seen  that  happy  face  ! 
Yet  he  somehow  caught  the  brightness 

Which  his  voice  and  presence  lent ; 
And  he  felt  the  sunshine  come  and  go 

As  Peter  came  and  went. 

And  now,  as  the  day  was  sinking, 

And  the  winds  began  to  rise, 
The  mother  looked  from  her  door  again, 

Shading  her  anxious  eyes. 
And  saw  the  shadows  deepen, 

And  birds  to  their  homes  come  back. 
But  never  a  sign  of  Peter 

Along  the  level  track. 
But  she  said,  "  He  will  come  at  morning, 

So  I  need  not  fret  or  grieve  — 
Though  it  isn't  like  my  boy  at  all 

To  stay  without  my  leave." 

But  where  was  the  child  delaying  ? 

On  the  homeward  way  was  he. 
And  across  the  dike  while  the  sun  was  up 

An  hour  above  the  sea. 
He  was  stooping  now  to  gather  flowers ; 

Now  listening  to  the  sound. 
As  tlie  angry  waters  dashed  themselves 

Against  their  narrow  bound. 


126  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

"Ah  !  well  for  us,"  said  Peter, 

"  That  the  gates  are  good  and  strong, 
And  my  father  tends  thenn  carefully, 

Or  they  would  not  hold  you  long  ! 
You're  a  wicked  sea,"  said  Peter; 

"  I  know  why  you  fret  and  chafe ; 
You  would  like  to  spoil  our  lands  and  homes; 

But  our  sluices  keep  you  safe  I  " 

But  hark  !  through  the  noise  of  waters 

Comes  a  low,  clear,  trickling  sound  ; 
And  the  child's  face  pales  with  terror, 

As  his  blossoms  drop  to  the  ground. 
He  is  up  the  bank  in  a  moment, 

And,  stealing  through  the  sand, 
He  sees  a  stream  not  yet  so  large 

As  his  slender,  childish  hand. 
'  Tis  a  leak  in  the  dike  !     He  is  but  a  boy. 

Unused  to  fearful  scenes ; 
But,  young  as  he  is,  he  has  learned  to  know 

The  dreadful  thing  that  means. 
A  leak  in  the  dike  !    The  stoutest  heart 

Grows  faint  that  cry  to  hear. 
And  the  bravest  man  in  all  the  land 

Turns  white  with  mortal  fear. 
For  he  knows  the  smallest  leak  may  grow 

To  a  flood  in  a  single  night ; 
And  he  knows  the  strength  of  the  cruel  sea 

When  loosed  in  its  angry  might. 

And  the  boy  !     He  has  seen  the  danger, 

And,  shouting  a  wild  alarm. 
He  forces  back  the  weight  of  the  sea 

With  the  strength  of  his  single  arm  ! 


THE  LEAK  IN  THE  DIKE  127 

He  listens  for  the  joyful  sound 

Of  a  footstep  passing  nigh  ; 
And  lays  his  ear  to  the  ground,  to  catch 

The  answer  to  his  cry, — 
And  he  hears  the  rough  winds  blowing, 

And  the  waters  rise  and  fall. 
But  never  an  answer  comes  to  him 

Save  the  echo  of  his  call. 


He  sees  no  hope,  no  succor, 

His  feeble  voice  is  lost ; 
Yet  what  shall  he  do  but  watch  and  wait, 

Though  he  perish  at  his  post  ! 
So,  faintly  calling  and  crying 

Till  the  sun  is  under  the  sea ; 
Crying  and  moaning  till  the  stars 

Come  out  for  company  ; 
He  thinks  of  his  brother  and  sister, 

Asleep  in  their  safe  warm  bed  ; 
He  thinks  of  dear  father  and  mother ; 

Of  himself  as  dying,  and  dead  ; 
And  of  how,  when  the  night  is  over. 

They  must  come  and  find  him  at  last ; 
But  he  never  thinks  he  can  leave  the  place 

Where  duty  holds  him  fast. 

The  good  dame  in  the  cottage 

Is  up  and  astir  with  the  light. 
For  the  thought  of  her  little  Peter 

Has  been  with  her  all  the  night. 
And  now  she  watches  the  pathway, 

As  yester-eve  she  had  done  ; 
But  what  does  she  see  so  strange  and  black 

Against  the  rising  sun  ? 


128  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Her  neighbors  are  bearing  between  them 
Something  straight  to  her  door ; 

Her  child  is  coming  home,  but  not 
As  he  ever  came  before  1 

♦♦  He  is  dead  !  "  she  cries  ;   "  my  darling  !  " 
And  the  startled  father  hears, 
And  comes  and  looks  the  way  she  looks, 

And  fears  the  thing  she  fears ; 
Till  a  glad  shout  from  the  bearers 
Thrills  the  stricken  man  and  wife — 
"  Give  thanks,  for  your  son  has  saved  our  land, 
And  God  has  saved  his  life  !  " 
So,  there  in  the  morning  sunshine 

They  knelt  about  the  boy ; 
And  every  head  was  bared  and  bent 
In  tearful,  reverent  joy. 

'Tis  many  a  year  since  then  ;  but  still, 

When  the  sea  roars  like  a  flood. 
Their  boys  are  taught  what  a  boy  can  do 

Who  is  brave  and  true  and  good. 
For  every  man  in  that  country 

Takes  his  dear  son  by  the  hand, 
And  tells  him  of  little  Peter, 

Whose  courage  saved  the  land. 

They  have  many  a  valiant  hero, 

Remembered  through  the  years ; 
But  never  one  whose  name  so  oft 

Is  named  with  loving  tears. 
And  his  deed  shall  be  sung  by  the  cradle, 

And  told  to  the  child  on  the  knee, 
So  long  as  the  dikes  of  Holland 

Divide  the  land  from  the  sea  ! 


XX 

The  Battle  of  Blenheim 

This  battle  was  fought  near  the  village  of  Blenheim, 
in  Bavaria,  on  the  left  bank  of  the  river  Danube,  on 
August  13,  1704.  The  French  and  Bavarians,  under 
Marshals  Tallard  and  Marsin,  were  defeated  by  the 
English  and  Austrians,  under  the  Duke  of  Marlborough 
and  Prince  Eugene. 

The  French  and  Bavarians  were  taken  by  surprise 
in  the  village,  and  their  armies  were  badly  handled. 
On  the  opposite  side  Marlborough  and  Prince  Eugene 
showed  themselves  splendid  cavalry  leaders  and  led  an 
attack  that  proved  successful  through  its  very  reckless- 
ness. The  French  and  Bavarians  lost  30,000  in  killed, 
wounded,  and  prisoners,  while  Marlborough's  loss  was 
only  11,000.  The  battle  broke  the  prestige  of  the 
French  king,  Louis  XIV  ;  and  when  Marlborough  re- 
turned to  England  his  nation  built  a  magnificent  man- 
sion for  him  and  named  it  Blenheim  Palace  after  this 
battle. 

Southey's  poem  tells  how  a  little  girl  found  a  skull 
near  the  battle-field  many  years  afterward,  and  asked 
her  grandfather  how  it  came  there.  He  told  her  that 
a  great  battle  had  been  fought  there,  and  many  of  the 
leaders  had  won  great  renown.  But  he  could  not  tell 
why  it  was  fought  nor  what  good  came  of  it.     He 


I30  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

only  knew  that  it  was  a  "  great  victory."  That  was 
the  moral  of  so  many  of  the  wars  that  devastated 
Europe  for  centuries.  The  kings  fought  for  more 
power  and  glory  ;  and  the  peasants  fled  from  burning 
homes,  and  the  soldiers  fell  on  the  fields.  The  poem 
gives  an  idea  of  the  real  value  to  men  of  such  famous 
victories  as  that  of  Blenheim. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BLENHEIM 
By  Robert  Southey 

It  was  a  summer  evening, 

Old  Kaspar's  work  was  done, 
And  he  before  his  cottage  door 

Was  sitting  in  the  sun, 
And  by  him  sported  on  the  green 
His  little  grandchild  Wilhelmine.  ^ 

She  saw  her  brother  Peterkin 
Roll  something  large  and  round, 

Which  he  beside  the  rivulet 
In  playing  there  had  found  ; 

He  came  to  ask  what  he  had  found, 

That  was  so  large,  and  smooth,  and  round. 

Old  Kaspar  took  it  from  the  boy, 

Who  stood  expectant  by  ; 
And  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head, 
And  with  a  natural  sigh, 
"  'Tis  some  poor  fellow's  skull,"  said  he, 
"  Who  fell  in  the  great  victory. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BLENHEIM  131 

"  I  find  them  in  the  garden, 

For  there's  many  here  about ; 
And  often  when  I  go  to  plough, 

The  ploughshare  turns  them  out  ! 
For  many  thousand  men,"  said  he, 
"  Were  slain  in  that  great  victory." 

"  Now  tell  us  what  'twas  all  about," 

Young  Peterkin,  he  cries  ; 

And  little  VVilhelmine  looks  up 

With  wonder-waiting  eyes  ; 

«*  Now  tell  us  all  about  the  war, 

And  what  they  fought  each  other  for," 

"  It  was  the  English,"  Kaspar  cried, 
"  Who  put  the  French  to  rout ; 
But  what  they  fought  each  other  for 

I  could  not  well  make  out ; 
But  everybody  said,"  quoth  he, 
"  That  'twas  a  famous  victory. 

"  My  father  lived  at  Blenheim  then. 
Yon  little  stream  hard  by ; 
They  burnt  his  dwelling  to  the  ground, 

And  he  was  forced  to  fly ; 
So  with  his  wife  and  child  he  fled. 
Nor  had  he  where  to  rest  his  head. 

"  With  fire  and  sword  the  country  round 

Was  wasted  far  and  wide. 
And  many  a  childing  mother  then, 

And  new-born  baby  died  ; 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
At  every  famous  victory. 


132  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

"  They  say  it  was  a  shocking  sight 

After  the  field  was  won  ; 
For  many  thousand  bodies  here 

Lay  rotting  in  the  sun  ; 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
After  a  famous  victory. 

"  Great  praise  the  Duke  of  Marlbro'  won, 

And  our  good  Prince  Eugene." 
"  Why,  'twas  a  very  wicked  thing  !  " 

Said  little  Wilhelraine. 
"  Nay    .    .    .    nay    .    .    .    my  little  girl,"  quoth  he, 
"  It  was  a  famous  victory. 

"  And  everybody  praised  the  Duke 

Who  this  great  fight  did  win." 
**  But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last  ?  " 

Quoth  little  Peterkin. 
"  Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,"  said  he, 
"  But  'twas  a  famous  victory." 


XXI 

Lochinvar 

Young  Lochinvar,  a  gallant  of  the  Border  country 
of  Scotland  that  lies  just  north  of  England,  rides  from 
his  home  in  the  west  to  seek  the  maid  he  loves,  the  fair 
Ellen.  He  goes  alone,  he  pays  no  heed  to  bush  or 
stone,  he  swims  the  Eske,  a  river  of  the  Border  that 
flows  into  Solway  Firth,  and  so  comes  to  Ellen's  home, 
Netherby  Casde  in  England,  on  the  eastern  bank  of 
the  Eske.  But  before  he  could  reach  the  castle  the 
lady  Ellen  had  said  she  would  wed  another,  a  man 
slow  to  court  her,  and  backward  in  war. 

The  wedding  guests  were  gathered  at  the  castle 
when  Lochinvar  entered  the  hall.  The  bride's  father, 
hand  on  sword,  demands  whether  the  gallant  has  come 
to  fight  or  to  dance  with  the  rest.  Lochinvar  says  he 
comes  to  dance  once  with  the  bride,  and  drink  her  one 
toast.  The  maid  kisses  a  goblet ;  he  drains  it,  and 
throws  it  away.  Then  he  takes  her  hand  and  leads 
her  out  into  the  gay  steps  of  the  galliard,  while  the 
bridegroom  frowns  and  the  guests  admire  the  grace  of 
the  two  dancers. 

They  dance  to  the  door.  Lochinvar  stoops  and 
whispers  to  the  lady.  Out  at  the  door  they  go  ;  he 
swings  her  to  his  charger,  vaults  up,  and  away  they 
dash,  while  after  them  over  the  Cannobie  meadows 


134  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

ride  all  of  the  Netherby  clan.  But  they  never  caught 
Lochinvar  and  his  lady. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  had  matchless  skill  in  writing  such 
ballads  as  this  of  the  old  days  in  the  Border  country. 
He  loved  every  stick  and  stone  of  Scotland,  and  every 
gallant  deed  in  her  history.  When  he  wrote  such  a 
poem  as  this  or  "  The  Bonnets  of  Bonnie  Dundee  "  he 
struck  at  once  into  the  dash  and  glamour  of  true 
romance,  and  the  swing  of  his  lines  gives  the  swing  of 
the  deeds  he  describes.  His  longer  poems,  *'  Marmion," 
"The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  and  "The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,"  give  us  wonderful  pictures  of  Scotch  history, 
as  simple  and  as  glowing  as  the  ballads  the  troubadours 
used  to  sing  of  famous  deeds  of  chivalry. 

"  Lochinvar  "  is  a  part  of  the  poem  of  "  Marmion." 


LOCHINVAR 
By  Sir  Walter  Scott 

O,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west, 
Through  all  the  wide  border  his  steed  was  the  best ; 
And  save  his  good  broadsword,  he  weapon  had  none, 
He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He  staid  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for  stone, 

He  swam  the  Eske  River  where  ford  there  was  none; 

But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate. 

The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late  : 

For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war. 

Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  young  Lochinvar. 


LOCHINVAR  135 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  Hall, 

Among  bridesmen  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers,  and  all : 

Then  spake  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword, 

(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word,) 

"  O  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar?  " 

I  long  wooed  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied ; 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide 
And  now  am  I  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine, 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far, 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet :  the  knight  took  it  up. 
He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the  cup. 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up  to  sigh, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 
He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could  bar, — 
"  Now  tread  we  a  measure  !  "  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace ; 

While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  fume, 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and  plume; 

And  the  bride-maidens  whispered,  "  'Twere  better  by  far. 

To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochinvar." 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear. 

When  they  reached  the  hall-door,  and  the  charger  stood  near; 

So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung. 

So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung. 

"She  is  won  !  we  are  gone  over  bank,  bush  and  scaur; 

They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth  young  Lochinvar. 


136  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby  clan ; 

Forsters,  Fen  wicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and  they  ran 

There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  Lee, 

But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see. 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar  ? 


XXII 

Battle  of  Fontenoy 

FONTENOY  is  a  village  of  Belgium,  and  famous  as 
the  scene  of  the  battle  fought  May  ii,  1745,  between 
the  French  under  Marshal  Saxe  and  the  allied  army 
of  English,  Dutch,  and  Austrians,  under  the  Duke  of 
Cumberland.  The  campaign  was  part  of  what  is 
known  as  the  War  of  the  Austrian  Succession,  which 
involved  almost  all  the  countries  of  Europe  on  one 
side  or  the  other,  and  which,  although  it  began  over  a 
question  as  to  the  succession  to  the  throne  of  Austria, 
came  to  have  many  other  objects.  At  the  time  of  this 
batde  the  French  were  trying  to  keep  the  allied  army 
from  marching  to  relieve  the  siege  of  the  fortress  of 
Tournai. 

The  French  were  posted  on  a  hill  behind  Fontenoy, 
and  at  first  appeared  to  have  all  the  advantage.  But 
soon  after  the  batde  began  the  Duke  of  Cumberland 
placed  himself  at  the  head  of  his  army,  and  marched  a 
column  of  fourteen  thousand  men  with  fixed  bayonets 
down  the  ravine  between  the  two  forces  and  up  the 
opposite  slope.  Legend  has  it  that  the  advancing 
English  invited  the  French  to  fire  first,  and  that  the 
French  refused  ;  but  the  French  were  surprised  by  the 
brave  advance  and  cheered  the  enemy.  The  English 
then   opened   a   devastating   fire,  and  the  first  French 


138  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

line  broke.  The  allies  charged,  and  gained  the  hill. 
This  was  the  critical  moment  of  the  battle.  The  French 
king,  Louis  XV,  and  the  Dauphin,  refused  to  fly,  and 
Marshal  Saxe,  although  ill,  mounted  his  horse  and 
took  command  of  the  French  cavalry. 

The  English  stood  their  ground,  although  the  enemy 
now  commenced  attacks  on  three  sides.  Finally  the 
Irish  brigade,  allies  of  the  French,  charged  on  the 
English  flank,  and  after  desperate  fighting  broke  the 
solid  English  square.  The  English  retreated,  but  pre- 
vented a  rout  by  standing  again  and  again  against  the 
terrific  onslaughts  of  the  French  and  Irish.  The  battle, 
which  at  first  had  appeared  likely  to  be  a  victory  for 
the  allies,  ended  in  a  decisive  triumph  for  the  French. 

The  poem  is  spoken  by  one  of  that  Irish  brigade 
who  had  joined  the  French  King  Louis  and  fought 
England  because  of  the  harsh  treatment  that  country 
had  shown  Ireland  after  the  battle  of  the  Boyne  in  1690. 


BATTLE  OF  FONTENOY 
By  Bartholomew  Dowling 

By  our  camp-fires  rose  a  murmur 

At  the  dawning  of  the  day, 
And  the  tread  of  many  footsteps 

Spoke  the  advent  of  the  fray  ; 
And  as  we  took  our  places, 

Few  and  stern  were  our  words, 
While  some  were  tightening  horse-girths, 

And  some  were  girding  swords. 


H 
H 


71 

2 

2: 

o 
•< 


BATTLE  OF  FONTENOY  i39 

The  trumpet-blast  has  sounded 

Our  footmen  to  array  — 
The  wiUing  steed  has  bounded, 

Impatient  for  the  fray — 
The  green  flag  is  unfolded, 

While  rose  the  cry  of  joy  — 
"  Heaven  speed  dear  Ireland's  banner 

To-day  at  Fontenoy  !  " 

We  looked  upon  that  banner, 

And  the  memory  arose 
Of  our  homes  and  perish'd  kindred 

Where  the  Lee  or  Shannon  flows ; 
We  look'd  upon  that  banner, 

And  we  swore  to  God  on  high. 
To  smite  to-day  the  Saxon's  might  — 

To  conquer  or  to  die. 

Loud  swells  the  charging  trumpet  — 

'Tis  a  voice  from  our  own  land  — 
God  of  battles  !  God  of  vengeance  ! 

Guide  to-day  the  patriot's  brand  ; 
There  are  stains  to  wash  away, 

There  are  memories  to  destroy, 
In  the  best  blood  of  the  Briton 

To-day  at  Fontenoy. 

Plunge  deep  the  fiery  rowels 

In  a  thousand  reeking  flanks  — 
Down,  chivalry  of  Ireland, 

Down  on  the  British  ranks  ! 
Now  shall  their  serried  columns 

Beneath  our  sabres  reel  — 
Through  the  ranks,  then,  with  the  war-horse  — 

Through  their  bosoms  with  the  steel. 


I40  HISTORIC  FOKMS  AND  BALLADS 

With  one  shout  for  good  King  Louis, 

And  the  fair  land  of  the  vine, 
Like  the  wrathful  Alpine  tempest, 

We  swept  upon  their  line  — 
Then  rang  along  the  battle-field 

Triumphant  our  hurrah, 
And  we  smote  them  down,  still  cheering, 

"  Erin^  shanthagal  go  braghy 

As  prized  as  is  the  blessing 

From  an  aged  father's  lip  — 
As  welcome  as  the  haven 

To  the  tempest-driven  ship  — 
As  dear  as  to  the  lover 

The  smile  of  gentle  maid  — 
Is  this  day  of  long-sought  vengeance 

To  the  swords  of  the  Brigade. 

See  their  shatter'd  forces  flying, 

A  broken,  routed  line  — 
See,  England,  what  brave  laurels 

For  your  brow  to-day  we  twine. 
Oh,  thrice  bless'd  the  hour  that  witness'd 

The  Briton  turn  to  flee 
From  the  chivalry  of  Erin 

And  France's  "fleur  de  lis." 

As  we  lay  beside  our  camp-fires. 

When  the  sun  had  pass'd  away, 
And  thought  upon  our  brethren 

Who  had  perished  in  the  fray. 
We  prayed  to  God  to  grant  us, 

And  then  we'd  die  with  joy, 
One  day  upon  our  own  dear  land 

Like  this  of  Fontenoy. 


XXIIl 

Bonnie  Prince  Charlie 

"Bonnie  Prince  Charlie"  was  the  name  affec- 
tionately given  by  certain  Scotch  and  English  people 
to  Charles  Edward  Stuart,  son  of  James  Stuart,  and 
grandson  of  James  II,  king  of  England.  He  was  also 
known  as  "  The  Chevalier,"  or  **  The  Young  Pre' 
tender,"  and  his  father  as  "  The  Old  Pretender."  The 
Scotch  who  were  still  loyal  to  their  old  royal  house  of 
Stuart  claimed  that  Charles  Edward  was  the  rightful 
king  of  Great  Britain,  and  wanted  to  see  him  take  the 
throne  from  the  House  of  Hanover. 

Prince  Charlie  landed  in  Scotland  in  July,  1745,  with 
only  seven  friends,  and  appealed  to  the  chiefs  of  the 
Highland  clans  to  give  him  their  aid.  "  The  Old  Pre- 
tender" had  not  been  a  popular  leader,  but  Prince 
Charlie  was  young,  handsome,  and  brave,  and  his  love 
of  the  Highlands  and  his  dashing  manner  won  the 
people  to  his  standard.  The  Highlanders  followed 
him  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  was  proclaimed  King 
James  VIII  of  Scotland.  In  September,  1745,  he  won 
the  battle  of  Preston  Pans,  and  a  little  later  a  victory 
at  Falkirk  gave  him  a  strong  hold  on  Scotland. 

Prince  Charlie  then  marched  an  army  of  six  thou- 
sand men  over  the  border  into  England,  hoping  the 
English  would  imitate  the  Scotch.      But  only  a  few 


142  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

English  recruits  joined  him,  and  the  advance  of  a  royal 
army  from  the  south  made  him  beat  a  retreat  to  Scot- 
land. The  armies  met  at  the  battle  of  Culloden  in 
Scodand,  April  i6,  1746,  and  there  the  Prince  was  de- 
feated and  forced  to  fly. 

For  five  months  Prince  Charlie  wandered  through 
the  wilds  of  Scodand,  constandy  pursued  by  English 
soldiers.  There  was  a  reward  of  ;^30,ooo  offered  for 
his  capture,  but  the  loyal  Highlanders  sheltered  him 
again  and  again,  and  although  he  was  often  sur- 
rounded by  his  pursuers  he  managed  to  escape  them 
every  time.  Finally  he  made  his  way  across  to 
France. 

This  expedition  is  known  as  the  rebellion  of  '45  ;  and 
it  is  one  of  the  many  romances  of  Scottish  history,  due 
to  the  dashing  gallantry  of  Prince  Charlie  and  the  de- 
vodon  of  the  Highlanders.  Walter  Scott's  novel  of 
"  Waverly  "  deals  with  this  story,  and  many  Scotch 
songs  have  been  sung  of  "  The  Young  Chevalier." 


BONNIE  PRINCE  CHARLIE 
By  James  Hogg 

Cam  ye  by  Athol,  lad  wi'  the  philabeg, 

Down  by  the  Tummel,  or  banks  o'  the  Garry  ; 
Saw  ye  our  lads,  wi'  their  bonnets  and  white  cockades, 
Leaving  their  mountains  to  follow  Prince  Charlie  ? 
Follow  thee  !  follow  thee  !  wha  wadna  follow  thee? 
Lang  hast  thou  loved  and  trusted  us  fairly  : 
Charlie,  Charlie,  wha  wadna  follow  thee. 

King  o'  the  Highland  hearts,  bonnie  Prince  Charlie  ? 


BONNIE  PRINCE  CHARLIE  143 

I  hae  but  ae  son,  my  gallant  young  Donald  ; 

But  if  I  had  ten,  they  should  follow  Glengary. 
Health  to  M'Donnel,  and  gallant  Clan-Ronald, 

For  these  are  the  men  that  will  die  for  their  Charlie! 
Follow  thee  !  follow  thee  !  wha  wadna  follow  thee  ? 

Lang  hast  thou  loved  and  trusted  us  fairly : 
Charlie,  Charlie,  wha  wadna  follow  thee. 

King  o'  the  Highland  hearts,  bonnie  Prince  Charlie  ? 

I'll  to  Lochiel  and  Appin,  and  kneel  to  them, 

Down  by  Lord  Murray,  and  Roy  of  Kildarlie ; 
Brave  M'Intosh  he  shall  fly  to  the  field  with  them ; 
These  are  the  lads  I  can  trust  wi'  my  Charlie  ! 
Follow  thee  !  follow  thee  !  wha  wadna  follow  thee? 

Lang  hast  thou  loved  and  trusted  us  fairly : 
Charlie,  Charlie,  wha  wadna  follow  thee, 

King  o'  the  Highland  hearts,  bonnie  Prince  Charlie  ? 

Down  through  the  Lowlands,  down  wi'  the  Whigamore  I 

Loyal  true  Highlanders,  down  wi'  them  rarely  ! 
Ronald  and  Donald,  drive  on  wi'  the  broad  claymore, 
Over  the  necks  of  the  foes  of  Prince  Charlie  ! 
Follow  thee !  follow  thee  !  wha  wadna  follow  thee  ? 

Lang  hast  thou  loved  and  trusted  us  fairly : 
Charlie,  Charlie,  wha  wadna  follow  thee, 

King  o*  the  Highland  hearts,  bonnie  Prince  Charlie  ? 


XXIV 

Boston 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  had  planned  to  write  a  i 
poem  about  his  native  city  of  Boston  for  many  years, 
and  some  of  the  lines  in  the  finished  poem  were  thought 
out  long  before  he  composed  the  verses  as  they  stand. 
Emerson  read  the  poem  on  December  i6,  1873,  in 
Faneuil  Hall,  on  the  One  Hundredth  Anniversary  of 
the  destruction  of  the  tea  in  Boston  Harbor.  The  Latin 
words  that  he  placed  at  the  beginning,  and  which  are 
the  motto  of  Boston,  he  translated  "  God  with  the 
Fathers,  So  with  Us." 

Boston,  settled  by  good  Puritan  stock,  was  one  of 
the  first  cities  in  the  thirteen  colonies  to  resist  the  un- 
fair rule  of  England.  Patriots  in  most  of  the  other 
cities  had  let  it  be  known  that  they  would  unite  in  the 
common  cause,  but  the  men  of  Boston  had  to  begin 
the  contest.  They  claimed  that  England  was  taxing 
the  colonies  without  allowing  them  any  chance  to  be 
heard  in  parliament,  and  they  especially  complained  of 
the  tax  on  all  tea  that  was  brought  into  the  port.  But 
the  more  the  colonists  objected  the  more  the  King  of 
England  insisted  on  proving  his  rights  to  them.  There- 
fore he  sent  several  ships  loaded  with  tea  to  America 
in  the  autumn  of  1773.  The  first  ship  reached  Boston 
Harbor  Sunday,  November  28th,  and  a  few  days  later 
two  others  arrived.     The  citizens  were  furious  at  this  at- 


BOSTON  145 

tempt  to  make  them  pay  the  tax  on  tea,  and  held  town- 
meetings,  and  voted  to  do  without  tea. 

The  people  became  more  and  more  indignant,  and 
finally  ordered  the  captains  of  the  vessels  laden  with 
tea  to  leave  the  port.  The  captains  agreed,  but  failed 
to  sail.  Finally  the  men  of  Boston  planned  to  settle 
the  difficulty  for  themselves.  On  the  evening  of  De- 
cember 16,  1773,  a  band  of  forty  or  fifty  men,  clad  in 
blankets  like  Indians,  with  hatchets  in  their  hands,  met 
at  a  church.  From  there  they  marched  to  Griffin's 
Wharf,  recruits  joining  them  on  the  way,  until  they 
numbered  nearly  two  hundred.  They  posted  guards 
on  the  wharf,  and  then  boarded  the  three  tea-ships. 
In  three  hours  the  band  had  broken  open  the  three 
hundred  and  forty  chests  of  tea  that  were  on  board, 
and  emptied  them  into  the  harbor.  Nothing  else  on 
the  ships  was  touched,  and  as  soon  as  the  work  was 
done  the  men  went  quietly  to  their  homes.  But  that 
very  night  men  of  the  near-by  villages  received  word 
of  the  "  Boston  Tea-Party,"  and  the  next  morning 
couriers  were  sent  to  the  other  colonies  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  the  stand  Boston  had  taken. 

News  of  the  Tea-Party  caused  great  indignation  in 
England,  and  the  King  ordered  that  no  ships  should 
be  allowed  to  enter  the  port  of  Boston  until  that  town 
should  have  paid  the  East  India  Company  for  the  lost 
tea.  The  charter  of  Massachusetts  was  annulled,  and 
General  Gage  was  sent  over  from  England  with  four 
regiments  to  take  possession  of  the  rebellious  city  and 
keep  it  in  order. 

But  the  spirit  of  Boston  was  the  spirit  of  independ- 


146       HISTORIC  pop:ms  and  ballads 

ence,  and  the  men  who  had  thrown  the  tea  overboard 
were  soon  afterwards  to  withstand  the  British  fire  at 
Lexington  and  Concord. 


BOSTON 

By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

{Sicut  Patribus,  sit  Deus  Nobis) 

The  rocky  nook  with  hilltops  three 
Looked  eastward  from  the  farms, 
And  twice  each  day  the  flowing  sea 
Took  Boston  in  its  arms ; 

The  men  of  yore  were  stout  and  poor, 
And  sailed  for  bread  to  every  shore. 

And  where  they  went  on  trade  intent 

They  did  what  freeman  can, 
Their  dauntless  ways  did  all  men  praise, 
The  merchant  was  a  man. 

The  world  was  made  for  honest  trade,- 
To  plant  and  eat  be  none  afraid. 

The  waves  that  rocked  them  on  the  deep 

To  them  their  secret  told  ; 
Said  the  winds  that  sung  the  lads  to  sleep, 
"  Like  us  be  free  and  bold  !  " 
The  honest  waves  refuse  to  slaves 
The  empire  of  the  ocean  caves. 

Old  Europe  groans  with  palaces, 

Has  lords  enough  and  more; — 
We  plant  and  build  by  foaming  seas 
A  city  of  the  poor  ; — 

For  day  by  day  could  Boston  Bay 
Their  honest  labor  overpay. 


BOSTON  147 

We  grant  no  dukedoms  to  the  few, 
We  hold  Hke  rights  and  shall ; — 
Equal  on  Sunday  in  the  pew, 
On  Monday  in  the  mall. 

For  what  avail  the  plough  or  sail, 
Or  land  or  hfe,  if  freedom  fail? 

The  noble  craftsmen  we  promote, 

Disown  the  knave  and  fool ; 
Each  honest  man  shall  have  his  vote, 
Each  child  shall  have  his  school. 
A  union  then  of  honest  men, 
Or  union  nevermore  again. 

The  wild  rose  and  the  barberry  thorn 

Hung  out  their  summer  pride 
Where  now  on  heated  pavements  worn 

The  feet  of  millions  stride. 

Fair  rose  the  planted  hills  behind 

The  good  town  on  the  bay, 
And  where  the  western  hills  declined 

The  prairie  stretched  away. 

What  care  though  rival  cities  soar 

Along  the  stormy  coast : 
Penn's  town,  New  York,  and  Baltimore, 

If  Boston  knew  the  most ! 

They  laughed  to  know  the  world  so  wide ; 

The  mountains  said  :   "Good-day  ! 
We  greet  you  well,  you  Saxon  men. 
Up  with  your  towns  and  stay !  " 

The  world  was  made  for  honest  trade, — 
To  plant  and  eat  be  none  afraid. 


148  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

"  For  you,"  Ihey  said,  "  no  barriers  be, 
For  you  no  sluggard  rest ; 
Each  street  leads  downward  to  the  sea, 
Or  landward  to  the  West." 

O  happy  town  beside  the  sea, 

Whose  roads  lead  everywhere  to  all ; 

Than  thine  no  deeper  moat  can  be, 
No  stouter  fence,  no  steeper  wall ! 

Bad  news  from  George  on  the  English  throne : 
"You  are  thriving  well,"  said  he; 
**  Now  by  these  presents  be  it  known, 
You  shall  pay  us  a  tax  on  tea ; 

'Tis  very  small, — no  load  at  all, — 
Honor  enough  that  we  send  the  call." 

*'  Not  so,"  said  Boston,  "  good  my  lord, 
We  pay  your  governors  here 
Abundant  for  their  bed  and  board, 

Six  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
(Your  highness  knows  our  homely  word,) 
Millions  for  self-government. 
But  for  tribute  never  a  cent." 

The  cargo  came  !  and  wlio  could  blame 

If  Indians  seized  the  tea, 
And,  chest  by  chest,  let  clown  the  same 
Into  the  laughing  sea  ? 

For  what  avail  the  plough  or  sail 
Or  land  or  life,  if  freedom  fail  ? 

The  townsmen  braved  the  English  king, 
Found  friendship  in  the  French, 

And  Honor  joined  the  patriot  ring 
Low  on  their  wooden  bench. 


BOSTON  149 

O  bounteous  seas  lliat  never  fail ! 

O  day  remembered  yet ! 
O  happy  port  that  spied  the  sail 
Which  wafted  Lafayette  ! 

Pole-star  of  light  in  Europe's  night, 
That  never  faltered  from  the  right. 

Kings  shook  with  fear,  old  empires  crave 

The  secret  force  to  find 
Which  fired  the  little  State  to  save 

The  rights  of  all  mankind. 

But  right  is  might  through  all  the  world ; 

Province  to  province  faithful  clung, 
Through  good  and  ill  the  war-bolt  hurled. 

Till  Freedom  cheered  and  the  joy-bells  rung. 

The  sea  returning  day  by  day 

Restores  the  world-wide  mart ; 
So  let  each  dweller  on  the  Bay 
Fold  Boston  in  his  heart, 

Till  these  echoes  be  choked  with  snows, 
Or  over  the  town  blue  ocean  flows. 


XXV 

Paul  Revere's  Ride 

All  during  the  winter  of  1774-75  an  armed  truce 
had  existed  between  the  British  officials  and  army  in 
the  colony  of  Massachusetts  and  the  people.  No  citi- 
zen could  be  found  who  would  serve  as  councillor, 
judge,  sheriff,  or  juryman  under  the  King's  commis- 
sion, and  the  official  business  of  the  colony  was  at  a 
standstill.  Every  evening  the  men  of  each  village 
drilled  on  the  green,  and  arms  and  ammunition  were 
collected  secretly  and  stored  in  town-halls  ready  for 
instant  use  in  the  conflict  which  every  one  expected. 
The  colonials  intended  that  England  should  be  forced 
to  fire  the  opening  shot,  so  that  they  would  be  in  the 
position  of  defending  their  homes  rather  than  of  at- 
tacking the  King's  government.  Gradually  a  large 
supply  of  powder  and  ball  was  stored  at  Concord, 
about  eighteen  miles  away  from  Boston,  and  word  of 
this  at  length  came  to  General  Gage,  who  commanded 
the  British  troops  in  the  latter  city. 

At  about  the  same  time  General  Gage  received 
orders  to  arrest  two  men  who  had  shown  themselves 
leaders  among  the  colonials,  Samuel  Adams  and  John 
Hancock.  They  were  to  be  sent  to  England  to  stand 
trial  for  treason.  He  learned  that  the  two  men  would 
be  in  Lexington  at  a  friend's  house  during  the  middle  of 


PAUL  REVERE'S  RIDE  151 

April,  and  gave  commands  that  a  detachment  of  eight 
hundred  troops  should  march  from  Boston  to  Lexing- 
ton, take  Adams  and  Hancock  prisoners,  and  then 
march  on  to  Concord,  which  lay  beyond  Lexington, 
and  seize  the  stores  of  powder  and  shot  there. 

The  British  soldiers  started  on  their  march  on  the 
night  of  April  18,  1775,  keeping  their  plans  as  secret 
as  possible,  and  crossing  from  Boston  to  Cambridge, 
on  their  way  to  Concord.  In  spite  of  their  care,  how- 
ever, word  of  the  plans  had  leaked  out,  and  the  colonial 
leaders  in  Boston  selected  Paul  Revere  and  William 
Dawes  to  ride  with  the  news. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Paul  Revere  should  wait 
in  Chadestown,  opposite  Boston,  until  he  should  see  a 
lantern  shining  in  the  tower  of  the  old  North  Church. 
When  he  caught  the  signal  he  mounted  a  swift  horse 
and  galloped  out  of  Charlestown  on  the  road  to  Lex- 
ington. As  he  rode  he  waked  the  country  people,  and 
they  knew  that  the  British  troops  were  on  the  march. 
He  reached  Lexington  in  time  to  give  the  warning  to 
Adams  and  Hancock,  so  that  they  escaped.  William 
Dawes,  who  had  ridden  with  the  same  news  by  way  of 
Roxbury,  and  Dr.  Samuel  Prescott,  rode  on  with  Paul 
Revere.  They  met  some  British  soldiers  at  Lincoln, 
but  Prescott  leaped  his  horse  over  a  roadside  wall  and 
escaped,  to  take  the  alarm  to  Concord.  Revere  and 
Dawes  were  made  prisoners,  but  were  soon  released. 

The  British  soldiers  reached  Concord  and  destroyed 
a  large  part  of  the  supplies  there,  but  by  the  time  they 
began  their  return  to  Boston  the  minutemen  were 
roused.     The  indignant  farmers  fired,  to  the  amaze- 


152  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

ment  of  the  red-coated  soldiers,  and  soon  the  British 
march  became  a  retreat,  and  ahnost  a  rout.  Reinforce- 
ments were  sent  to  their  aid  before  they  reached  Boston, 
and  but  for  that  very  few  would  have  escaped  their 
pursuers.  As  it  was,  this  first  fight  of  the  War  for 
American  Independence  was  a  victory  for  the  colonials. 
This  poem  is  the  "  Landlord's  Tale,"  the  first  of  the 
"  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn." 


PAUL  REVERE'S  RIDE 
By  Henry  Wadsworth  Lo7igfellow 

Listen,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 

Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere, 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-Five : 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 

Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 

He  said  to  his  friend,  "  If  the  British  march 
By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-night, 
Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry  arch 
Of  the  North  Church  tower  as  a  signal  light, 
One,  if  by  land,  and  two,  if  by  sea; 
And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be, 
Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 
Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, 
For  the  country  folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm." 

Then  he  said,  Good-night !  and  with  muffled  oar 
Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore. 
Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay, 
Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 


PAUL  REVERE'S  RIDE  153 

The  Somerset,  British  man-of-war  j 

A  phantom  ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 

Across  the  moon  like  a  prison-bar, 

And  a  huge  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 

By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 

Meanwhile,  his  friend,  through  alley  and  street, 
Wanders  and  watches,  with  eager  ears, 
Till  in  the  silence  around  him  he  hears 
The  muster  of  men  at  the  barrack  door, 
The  sound  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of  feet. 
And  the  measured  tread  of  the  grenadiers. 
Marching  down  to  their  boats  on  the  shore. 

Then  he  climb'd  to  the  tower  of  the  old  North 

Church, 
By  the  wooden  stairs,  with  stealthy  tread. 
To  the  belfry-chamber  overhead. 
And  startled  the  pigeons  from  their  perch 
On  the  sombre  rafters,  that  round  him  made 
Masses  and  moving  shapes  of  shade ; 
By  the  trembling  ladder,  steep  and  tall. 
To  the  highest  window  in  the  wall, 
Where  he  paused  to  listen  and  look  down 
A  moment  on  the  roofs  of  the  town. 
And  the  moonlight  flowing  over  all. 

Beneath,  in  the  churchyard,  lay  the  dead 
In  their  night-encampment  on  the  hill, 
Wrapp'd  in  silence  so  deep  and  still. 
That  he  could  hear,  like  a  sentinel's  tread, 
The  watchful  night-wind,  as  it  went 
Creeping  along  from  tent  to  tent, 
And  seeming  to  whisper,  "  All  is  well !  " 
A  moment  only  he  feels  the  spell 


154  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Of  the  place  and  the  hour,  and  the  secret  dread 

Of  the  lonely  belfry  and  the  dead  ; 

For  suddenly  all  his  thoughts  are  bent 

On  a  shadowy  sonielhing  far  away, 

Where  the  river  widens  to  meet  the  bay, — 

A  line  of  black,  that  bends  and  floats 

On  the  rising  tide,  like  a  bridge  of  boats. 

Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride, 
Booted  and  spurr'd,  with  a  heavy  stride, 
On  the  opposite  shore  vvalk'd  Paul  Revere. 
Now  he  patted  his  horse's  side, 
Now  gazed  at  the  landscape  far  and  near, 
Then,  impetuous,  stamp'd  the  earth. 
And  turn'd  and  lighten'd  his  saddle-girth; 
But  mostly  he  watch'd  with  eager  search 
The  belfry- tower  of  the  old  North  Church, 
As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill. 
Lonely,  and  spectral,  and  sombre  and  still. 
And  lo  !  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height 
A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light ! 
He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns. 
But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 
A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns  ! 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 
A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 
And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 
Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet : 
That  was  all !    And  yet,  through  the  gloom  and  the 

light. 
The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night ; 
And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed,  in  his  flight. 
Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 


PAUL  REVERE'S  RIDE  155 

He  lias  left  the  village  and  mounted  the  steep, 
And  beneath  him,  tranquil  and  broad  and  deep, 
Is  the  Mystic,  meeting  the  ocean  tides ; 
And  under  the  alders  that  skirt  its  edge. 
Now  soft  on  the  sand,  now  loud  on  the  ledge, 
Is  heard  the  tramp  of  his  steed  as  he  rides. 

It  was  twelve  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  crossed  the  bridge  into  Medford  town. 

He  heard  the  crowing  of  the  cock. 

And  the  barking  of  the  farmer's  dog, 

And  felt  the  damp  of  the  river  fog. 

That  rises  after  the  sun  goes  down. 

It  was  one  by  the  village  clock. 

When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 

He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 

Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed. 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare, 

Gaze  at  him  with  a  spectral  glare, 

As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 

At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 


It  was  two  by  the  village  clock. 

When  he  came  fo  the  bridge  in  Concord  town. 

He  heard  the  bleating  of  the  flock. 

And  the  twitter  of  birds  among  the  trees, 

And  felt  the  breath  of  the  morning  breeze 

Blowing  over  the  meadows  brown. 

And  one  was  safe  and  asleep  in  his  bed 

Who  at  the  bridge  would  be  first  to  fall, 

Who  that  day  would  be  lying  dead, 

Pierced  by  a  British  musket-ball. 


156  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

You  know  the  rest.     In  the  books  you  have  read 
How  the  British  regulars  fired  and  fled ; 
How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball, 
From  behind  each  fence  and  farmyard-wall, 
Chasing  the  redcoats  down  the  lane, 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road, 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 

So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Revere  ; 

And  so  through  the  night  went  his  cry  of  alarm 

To  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, — 

A  cry  of  defiance,  and  not  of  fear, — 

A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door, 

And  a  word  that  shall  echo  foreverraore  ! 

For,  borne  on  the  night- wind  of  the  Past, 

Through  all  our  history,  to  the  last. 

In  the  hour  of  darkness,  and  peril,  and  need, 

The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 

The  hurrying  hoof- beat  of  that  steed, 

And  the  midnight  message  of  Paul  Revere. 


XXVI 

The  Battle  of  Lexington 

Paul  Revere  had  wakened  the  little  town  of  Lex- 
ington at  midnight  of  April  i8,  1775,  with  word  that 
General  Gage  and  the  British  regulars  were  on  the 
march  to  seize  the  stores  at  Concord.  William  Dawes 
had  brought  the  same  message,  riding  through  Rox- 
bury.  Then  Dawes  and  Revere  and  Samuel  Prescott 
rode  on  until  they  reached  Lincoln,  where  the  first  two 
were  captured  by  the  British,  but  Prescott  escaped  to 
Concord. 

In  1775  there  may  have  been  some  seven  hundred 
people  in  Lexington,  By  two  in  the  morning  of  April 
19th,  Lexington  Common  was  filled  with  minutemen. 
The  roll  was  called,  and  one  hundred  and  thirty  an- 
swered to  their  names.  Then  the  captain,  John  Parker, 
ordered  every  man  to  load  his  musket  with  powder  and 
ball,  but  not  to  be  the  first  to  fire.  Messengers,  who 
had  been  sent  out  to  look  for  the  British  troops,  re- 
ported they  were  not  in  sight,  so  the  company  was  dis- 
missed with  orders  to  come  together  instantly  at  the 
sound  of  a  drum. 

Dawn  was  just  breaking  when  the  first  British  sol- 
diers were  seen  advancing  along  the  road.  The  drums 
called  the  minutemen  together,  and  the  raw  soldiers 
were  drawn  up  in  two  ranks,  near  the  north  side  of  the 
meeting-house. 


158  HISTORIC  POKMS  AND  BALLADS 

The  British,  hearing  the  drums  and  signal-guns, 
halted  and  loaded  their  muskets.  Then  the  advance 
guard,  led  by  Major  Pitcairn,  and  followed  by  the 
grenadiers,  went  forward  at  the  double-quick.  When 
Pitcairn  was  near  the  minutemen  he  cried  out :  "  Dis- 
perse, ye  villains !  ye  rebels,  disperse !  lay  down  your 
arms !  why  don't  you  lay  down  your  arms  and  dis- 
perse?" 

Although  the  minutemen  were  far  fewer  than  the 
British  soldiers  they  stood  their  ground.  Pitcairn  fired 
his  pistol,  and  called  to  his  men,  "  Fire  !  "  A  few  guns 
answered,  and  then  followed  a  deadly  discharge  of 
muskets  at  short  range. 

Captain  Parker,  seeing  that  his  men  were  too  few  to 
withstand  so  many,  ordered  them  to  retreat.  Then  a 
few  of  them,  of  their  own  accord,  fired  at  the  regulars, 
but  did  them  no  harm.  Seven  men  of  Lexington,  how- 
ever, were  killed  by  the  British  fire,  and  nine  wounded. 
Jonas  Parker  had  sworn  never  to  run  from  British  troops; 
he  stood  his  ground  and  was  stabbed  by  a  bayonet  as 
he  reloaded  his  gun.  Robert  Munroe,  a  veteran  of 
earlier  wars,  was  killed.  Samuel  Hadley  and  John 
Brown  were  followed  and  shot  down  after  they  had  left 
the  common,  and  Asahel  Porter,  who  had  been  cap- 
tured and  was  trying  to  escape,  was  also  shot.  Caleb 
Harrington,  who  had  gone  to  the  meeting-house  for 
powder,  was  killed  by  a  bullet  as  he  came  out,  and 
Jonathan  Harrington,  Jr.,  was  struck  in  front  of  his  own 
house  on  the  common.  His  wife  was  at  the  window. 
He  fell,  then  got  to  his  knees,  and  crawled  to  his  door- 
step.    There  he  died  as  his  wife  reached  him. 


> 


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2; 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LEXINGTON  159 

Daylight  found  Lexington  Common  stained  with 
blood,  and  seven  of  the  town's  brave  sons  dead.  Yet 
Samuel  Adams,  looking  into  the  future,  could  exclaim, 
"Oh,  what  a  glorious  morning  is  this!  "  for  he  knew 
that  the  heroic  stand  of  that  little  company  was  the  first 
step  towards  the  winning  of  their  country's  independ- 
ence. 

This  poem  by  Sidney  Lanier  is  a  part  of  a  longer 
poem  called  "  Psalm  of  the  West." 

THE  BATTLE  OF  LEXINGTON 

By  Sidney  Lanier 
(From  the  "  Psalm  of  the  West.") 

Now  haste  thee  while  the  way  is  clear, 

Paul  Revere  ! 
Haste,  Dawes  !  but  haste  thou  not,  O  Sun  ! 

To  Lexington. 

Then  Devens  looked  and  saw  the  light : 
He  got  him  forth  into  the  night, 
And  watched  alone  on  the  river-shore, 
And  marked  the  British  ferrying  o'er. 

John  Parker  !  rub  thine  eyes  and  yawn  : 
But  one  o'clock  and  yet  'tis  Dawn  ! 
Quick,  rub  thine  eyes  and  draw  thy  hose : 
The  Morning  comes  ere  darkness  goes, 
Have  forth  and  call  the  yeomen  out, 
For  somewhere,  somewhere  close  about 
Full  soon  a  Thing  must  come  to  be 
Thine  honest  eyes  shall  stare  to  see 
Full  soon  before  thy  patriot  eyes 
Freedom  from  out  of  a  Wound  shall  rise. 


i6o  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Then  haste  ye,  Prescott  and  Revere  ! 
Bring  all  the  men  of  Lincohi  liere; 
Lei  Chelmsford,  Littleton,  Carlisle, 
Let  Acton,  Bedford,  hither  file  — 
Oh  hillier  file,  and  plainly  see 
Out  of  a  wound  leap  Liberty. 

Say,  Woodman  April !  all  in  green, 
Say,  Robin  April !   hast  thou  seen 
In  all  thy  travel  round  the  earth 
Ever  a  morn  of  calmer  birth  ? 
But  Morning's  eye  alone  serene 
Can  gaze  across  yon  village-green 
To  where  the  trooping  British  run 
Through  Lexington. 

Good  men  in  fustian,  stand  ye  still ; 

The  men  in  red  come  o'er  the  hill. 

Lay  down  your  arms,  damned  Rebels  /  cry 

The  men  in  red  full  haughtily. 

But  never  a  grounding  gun  is  heard  ; 

The  men  in  fustian  stand  unstirred  ; 

Dead  calm,  save  maybe  a  wise  bluebird 

Puts  in  his  little  heavenly  word. 

O  men  in  red  !  if  ye  but  knew 

The  half  as  much  as  bluebirds  do, 

Now  in  this  little  tender  calm 

Each  hand  would  out,  and  every  palm 

With  patriot  palm  strike  brotherhood's  stroke 

Or  ere  these  lines  of  battle  broke. 

O  men  in  red  !  if  ye  but  knew 

The  least  of  the  all  that  bluebirds  do, 

Now  in  this  little  godly  calm 

Yon  voice  might  sing  the  Future's  Psalm  — 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LEXINGTON  i6i 

The  Psalm  of  Love  with  the  brotherly  eyes 
Who  pardons  and  is  very  wise  — 
Yon  voice  that  shouts,  high-hoarse  with  ire, 
Fire  ! 

The  redcoats  fiie,  the  homespuns  fall : 

The  homespuns'  anxious  voices  call, 

Brother,  art  hurt  ?  and  Where  hit,  John  ? 

And,   Wipe  this  blood,  and  Men,  come  on, 

And  Neighbor,  do  but  lift  7ny  head, 

And  Who  is  wounded  ?     Who  is  dead  ? 

Seven  are  killed.     My  God  /  my  God  / 

Seven  he  dead  on  the  village  sod. 

Two  Harringtons,  Parker,  Hadley,  Brown, 

Munroe  and  Porter, — these  are  down. 

Nay,  look  !  stout  Harrington  not  yet  dead  ! 

He  crooks  his  elbow,  lifts  his  head. 

He  lies  at  the  step  of  his  own  house-door ; 

He  crawls  and  makes  a  path  of  gore. 

The  wife  from  the  window  hath  seen,  and  rushed ; 

He  hath  reached  the  step,  but  the  blood  hath  gushed ; 

He  hath  crawled  to  the  step  of  his  own  house-door, 

But  his  head  hath  dropped  :   he  will  crawl  no  more. 

Clasp,  Wife,  and  kiss,  and  lift  the  head : 

Harrington  lies  at  his  door-step  dead. 

But,  O  ye  Six  that  round  him  lay 

And  bloodied  up  that  April  day  ! 

As  Harrington  fell,  ye  likewise  fell  — 

At  the  door  of  the  House  wherein  ye  dwell ; 

As  Harrington  came,  ye  likewise  came 

And  died  at  the  door  of  your  House  of  Fame. 


XXVII 

Concord  Hymn 

This  poem  was  written  to  be  sung  as  a  hymn  at  the 
completion  of  the  monument  erected  on  the  bank  of  the 
Concord  River  in  Massachusetts  April  19,  1836.  It 
was  there  that  the  colonial  minutemen  withstood  the 
British  regulars  on  April  19,  1775,  and,  as  Emerson 
says,  "fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world,"  begin- 
ning the  War  of  American  Independence. 

Emerson's  grandfather,  William  Emerson,  was  a 
minister  at  Concord  in  1775,  and  had  strongly  urged 
resistance  to  the  British  in  his  sermons.  He  himself 
stood  with  the  farmers  by  the  bridge,  saying  to  the 
minutemen,  "  Let  us  stand  our  ground.  If  we  die,  let 
us  die  here." 

The  battle  took  place  near  the  minister's  own  house, 
which  was  afterwards  the  home  of  his  grandson,  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson,  and  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne.  Haw- 
thorne gave  it  fame  as  "  The  Old  Manse  "  of  his  writings. 

CONCORD  HYMN 
By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 

Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 


CONCORD  HYMN  163 

The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept ; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps  ; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 

On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a  votive  stone  ; 
That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem, 

When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 

To  die,  and  leave  their  children  free, 
Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare 

The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 


XXVIII 

The  Green  Mountain  Boys 

Soon  after  the  first  armed  encounters  between  the 
British  troops  stationed  in  Boston  under  General  Gage 
and  the  minutemen  of  Lexington  and  Concord  and 
other  villages,  a  large  army  of  recruits  collected  outside 
Boston.  There  were  nearly  twenty  thousand  of  these 
men  who  had  hurriedly  left  homes  and  farms  and  has- 
tened to  besiege  General  Gage  and  his  regulars.  The 
leaders,  however,  did  not  consider  the  time  ripe  to  at- 
tack such  a  strong  British  force.  The  recruits  were 
eager  and  warlike,  and  it  was  soon  seen  that  their 
martial  spirit  must  be  given  some  outlet.  It  was  then 
that  Benedict  Arnold,  captain  of  a  volunteer  company 
from  Connecticut,  suggested  that  a  march  be  made 
against  the  British  fortresses  at  Ticonderoga  and 
Crown  Point,  on  Lake  Champlain.  These  were  of 
great  strategic  value,  as  they  commanded  the  ap- 
proach to  the  Hudson  River  on  the  north. 

This  idea  met  with  a  quick  response.  Arnold  was 
made  a  colonel,  and  started  to  raise  a  regiment  among 
the  colonists  in  the  Berkshire  Hills.  Meantime,  how- 
ever, a  number  of  other  men  were  raising  recruits  in 
the  country  which  was  known  as  the  New  Hampshire 
Grants,  now  the  state  of  Vermont.  Ethan  Allen  was 
one  of  the  leaders  here,  and  while  some  of  the  captains 


THE  GREEN  MOUNTAIN  BOYS  165 

were  on  the  march  from  Boston,  he  sent  an  alarm  from 
the  town  of  Bennington  through  the  hills  and  valleys 
of  the  Green  Mountain  country.  The  settlers  came 
hurriedly  at  his  call,  and  on  May  7,  1775,  one  hundred 
Green  Mountain  Boys,  as  these  patriots  were  called, 
and  about  fifty  men  from  Massachusetts,  met  at  Castle- 
ton.  Benedict  Arnold  joined  them,  but,  although  he 
already  had  a  military  commission  from  the  Massachu- 
setts committee  of  safety,  the  recruits  disregarded  his 
claim,  and  unanimously  elected  Ethan  Allen  their  com- 
mander. 

The  fortress  of  Ticonderoga  was  strongly  guarded 
with  cannon,  and  the  Green  Mountain  Boys  knew  that 
if  they  were  to  capture  it  they  would  have  to  take  the 
British  garrison  by  surprise.  As  secredy  as  they  could, 
therefore,  they  set  out  from  Castleton,  heading  for  Lake 
Champlain.  On  May  ninth  they  camped  at  Orwell, 
and  planned  to  make  their  attack  on  the  next  day. 


THE  GREEN  MOUNTAIN  BOYS 
By  William  Cullen  Bryafit 

Here  halt  we  our  march,  and  pitch  our  tent 

On  the  rugged  forest-ground, 
And  light  our  fire  with  the  branches  rent 

By  winds  from  the  beeches  round. 
Wild  storms  have  torn  this  ancient  wood. 

But  a  wilder  is  at  hand, 
With  hail  of  iron  and  rain  of  blood, 

To  sweep  and  waste  the  land. 


i66  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

How  the  dark  wood  rings  with  our  voices  shrill, 

That  startle  the  sleeping  bird  ! 
To-morrow  eve  must  the  voice  be  still, 

And  the  step  must  fall  unheard. 
The  Briton  lies  by  the  blue  Champlain, 

In  Ticonderoga's  towers, 
And  ere  the  sun  rise  twice  again, 

Must  they  and  the  lake  be  ours. 

Fill  up  the  bowl  from  the  brook  that  glides 

Where  the  fireflies  light  the  brake ; 
A  ruddier  juice  the  Briton  hides 

In  his  fortress  by  the  lake. 
Build  high  the  fire,  till  the  panther  leap 

From  his  lofty  perch  in  flight. 
And  we'll  strengthen  our  weary  arms  with  sleep 

For  the  deeds  of  to-morrow  night. 


XXIX 

Ticonderoga 

The  Green  Mountain  Boys,  led  by  Ethan  Allen,  and 
accompanied  by  Benedict  Arnold  as  a  volunteer,  man- 
aged to  collect  a  few  boats  at  Orwell,  and  eighty-three 
of  the  men  crossed  Lake  Champlain  early  in  the  morn- 
ing of  May  lo,  1775,  and  landed  at  Ticonderoga.  The 
boats  were  sent  back  for  the  rest  of  the  expedition,  but 
the  commander  realized  that  if  he  was  to  take  the 
enemy  by  surprise  he  could  not  wait  until  the  others 
arrived.  Dawn  was  just  breaking  over  the  mountains 
as  Ethan  Allen  drew  up  his  little  band  in  ranks.  Ac- 
cording to  history  he  said  to  them,  "  Friends  and 
fellow-soldiers,  we  must  this  morning  quit  our  pre- 
tentions to  valor,  or  possess  ourselves  of  this  fortress  ; 
and,  inasmuch  as  it  is  a  desperate  attempt,  I  do  not 
urge  it  on,  contrary  to  will.  You  that  will  undertake 
voluntarily,  poise  your  firelock." 

Every  man  raised  his  firelock.  "  Face  to  the  right ! " 
cried  Allen.  He  took  his  place  at  the  head  of  the 
centre  file,  and  with  Arnold  beside  him,  led  the  march 
to  the  gate  of  the  fortress.  The  gate  was  shut,  but 
the  wicket  in  it  was  open.  A  sentry  fired  through  it, 
and  then  the  Americans  broke  down  the  gate  and 
dashed  upon  the  few  guards  and  captured  them.  The 
attackers  raised  the  old  Indian  war-whoops  of  the  days 


i68  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

of  Montcalm,  and  quickly  formed  a  hollow  square  on 
the  parade  ground,  one  side  facing  each  of  the  bar- 
racks. One  of  the  sentries  showed  Allen  the  door  of 
the  British  commander's  room.  *'  Come  out  instantly, 
or  I  will  sacrifice  the  whole  garrison  !  "  cried  Ethan 
Allen.  Delaplace,  the  British  commander,  jumped 
out  of  bed  and  gazed  in  amazement  at  the  American. 
"  Deliver  to  me  the  fort  instantly,"  said  the  American. 
"  By  what  authority  ?  "  asked  the  British  officer.  *'  In 
the  name  of  the  great  Jehovah,  and  the  Continental 
Congress  !  "  answered  Ethan  Allen. 

Delaplace  started  to  speak,  but  Allen  threatened  him 
with  his  drawn  sword,  and  called  for  his  surrender. 
Then  the  commander  capitulated,  and  ordered  the 
garrison  to  give  up  their  arms.  By  this  sudden  attack 
a  few  almost  undisciplined  volunteer  soldiers  won  in 
about  ten  minutes  a  fortress  that  had  caused  the  British 
troops  many  campaigns  against  the  French  and  Indians. 
The  Green  Mountain  Boys  took  a  large  number  of 
prisoners  at  Ticonderoga,  more  than  one  hundred 
pieces  of  cannon,  and  stores  of  powder  and  arms. 
They  sent  a  band  of  their  men  to  the  other  fortress  of 
Crown  Point,  and  took  that  as  easily  as  they  had  cap- 
tured the  larger  and  more  important  one. 

Coming  as  it  did,  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  War 
of  Revolution,  the  success  of  the  Green  Mountain  Boys 
gave  the  greatest  cheer  to  the  colonists  from  Massa- 
chusetts to  Georgia. 


n 

o 
2 


o 


TICONDEROGA  169 

TICONDEROGA 
By  V.  B.  Wilson 

The  cold,  gray  light  of  the  dawning 

On  old  Carillon  falls, 
And  dim  in  the  mist  of  the  morning 

Stand  the  grim  old  fortress  walls. 
No  somid  disturbs  the  stillness 

Save  the  cataract's  mellow  roar, 
Silent  as  death  is  the  fortress, 

Silent  the  misty  shore. 

But  up  from  the  wakening  waters 

Comes  the  cool,  fresh  morning  breeze, 
Lifting  the  banner  of  Britain, 

And  whispering  to  the  trees 
Of  the  swift  gliding  boats  on  the  waters 

That  are  nearing  the  fog-shrouded  land, 
With  the  old  Green  Mountain  Lion, 

And  his  daring  patriot  band. 

But  the  sentinel  at  the  postern 

Heard  not  the  whisper  low  ; 
He  is  dreaming  of  the  banks  of  Shannon 

As  he  walks  on  his  beat  to  and  fro, 
Of  the  starry  eyes  in  Green  Erin 

That  were  dim  when  he  marched  away, 
And  a  tear  down  his  bronzed  cheek  courses, 

'Tis  the  first  for  many  a  day. 

A  sound  breaks  the  misty  stillness, 

And  quickly  he  glances  around  ; 
Through  the  mist,  forms  like  towering  giants 

Seem  rising  out  of  the  ground  ; 


I70  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

A  challenge,  the  firelock  flashes, 
A  sword  cleaves  the  quivering  air, 

And  the  sentry  lies  dead  by  the  postern, 
Blood  staining  his  bright  yellow  hair. 

Then,  with  a  shout  that  awakens 

All  the  echoes  of  hillside  and  glen, 
Through  the  low,  frowning  gate  of  the  fortress, 

Sword  in  hand,  rush  the  Green  Mountain  men. 
The  scarce  wakened  troops  of  the  garrison 

Yield  up  their  trust  pale  with  fear ; 
And  down  conies  the  bright  British  banner, 

And  out  rings  a  Green  Mountain  cheer. 

Flushed  with  pride,  the  whole  eastern  heavens 

With  crimson  and  gold  are  ablaze ; 
And  up  springs  the  sun  in  his  splendor 

And  flings  down  his  arrowy  rays, 
Bathing  in  sunlight  the  fortress. 

Turning  to  gold  the  grim  walls. 
While  louder  and  clearer  and  higher 

Rings  the  song  of  the  waterfalls. 

Since  the  taking  of  Ticonderoga 

A  century  has  rolled  away  ; 
But  with  pride  the  nation  remembers 

That  glorious  morning  in  May. 
And  the  cataract's  silvery  music 

Forever  the  story  tells, 
Of  the  capture  of  old  Carillon, 

The  chime  of  the  silver  bells. 


XXX 

The  Little  Black-Eyed  Rebel 

The  British  troops  under  General  Howe  made  Phila- 
delphia their  headquarters  during  the  winter  of  1777- 
1778.  They  entered  that  city,  which  was  the  largest 
and  most  important  in  the  thirteen  states,  on  Septem- 
ber 26,  1777,  having  defeated  Washington's  army  in  a 
series  of  small  engagements.  The  American  com- 
mander-in-chief withdrew  to  a  safe  distance  from  the 
city,  and  prepared  to  rest  and  recruit  his  forces  before 
meeting  Howe  again. 

In  the  meantime  the  British  General  Burgoyne  had 
surrendered  at  Saratoga,  and  many  troops  that  had 
been  engaged  in  fighting  him  joined  Washington's 
command.  By  November,  1777,  there  was  a  general 
clamor  for  Washington  to  capture  Philadelphia.  But 
that  city  was  protected  by  the  Schuylkill  and  Delaware 
Rivers  and  could  only  be  approached  from  the  north, 
and  on  that  side  the  British  had  built  a  chain  of  four- 
teen redoubts.  Washington  realized  that  his  army 
would  have  little  chance  of  taking  the  city  from  the 
large  British  force  there,  and  selected  the  woods  of 
Whitemarsh  for  a  temporary  encampment. 

General  Howe  in  Philadelphia  heard  that  the  Ameri- 
cans were  ill  prepared  for  an  attack,  and  so,  on  De- 
cember   fourth,   he    marched   fourteen    thousand   men 


172  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

against  them.  Washington,  with  only  some  seven 
thousand  really  effective  soldiers,  prepared  to  meet 
him,  but  after  much  manoeuvering  and  several  slight 
skirmishes  Howe  decided  that  the  Americans  were  too 
w^ell  protected  by  the  broken  country  and  their  en- 
trenchments, and  retired  into  the  city  again.  The  rest 
of  the  winter  Howe  spent  in  Philadelphia,  and  Wash- 
ington put  his  army  into  winter  quarters  at  Valley 
Forge,  on  the  Schuylkill  River,  twenty-one  miles  out- 
side of  Philadelphia.  Thus  the  two  armies  rested,  and 
waited  for  spring  to  renew  hostilities.  When  spring 
came,  to  the  surprise  of  the  Tories,  the  British  marched 
out  of  the  city  on  June  i8,  1778,  and  allowed  the 
Americans  to  enter  unmolested. 

The  British  spent  the  winter  in  Philadelphia  in  enter- 
tainments of  every  fashion ;  the  Americans  at  Valley 
Forge  had  difficulty  in  getting  sufficient  food  and 
clothing.  With  the  army  so  near  it  was  natural  that 
many  of  the  soldiers  should  try  to  send  messages  to 
their  families  in  the  city,  and  receive  word  from  them. 
Many  plans  were  tried  to  dodge  the  British  sentries, 
and  letters  were  often  hidden  in  the  farm-wagons  that 
drove  into  town  with  provisions  for  citizens  and 
soldiers. 

One  of  those  who  was  most  active  in  sending  mes- 
sages was  a  Philadelphia  girl  named  Mary  Redmond. 
She  was  known  as  "  The  Litde  Black-eyed  Rebel,"  and 
Will  Carleton's  poem  tells  the  true  story  of  one  of  her 
successful  attempts  to  smuggle  notes  from  the  soldiers 
at  Valley  Forge  to  their  wives  and  children  in  Phila- 
delphia. 


THE  LITTLE  BLACK-EYED  REBEL         173 

THE  LITTLE  BLACK-EYED  REBEL 
By  Will  Carle  ton 

[From  Poems  For  Young  Americans,  by  Will  Carlcton"] 
Copyright,  1906,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

A  boy  drove  inlo  the  city,  his  wagon  loaded  down 
With  food  to  feed  the  people  of  the  British-governed  town ; 
And  the  little  black-eyed  rebel,  so  innocent  and  sly, 
Was  watching  for  his  coming  from  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

His  face  looked  broad  and  honest,  his  hands  were  brown  and  tough, 
The  clothes  he  wore  upon  him  were  homespun,  coarse,  and  rough ; 
But  one  there  was  who  watched  him,  who  long  time  lingered  nigh, 
And  cast  at  him  sweet  glances  from  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

He  drove  up  to  the  market,  he  waited  in  the  line ; 

His  apples  and  potatoes  were  fresh  and  fair  and  fine ; 

But  long  and  long  he  waited,  and  no  one  came  to  buy, 

Save  the  black-eyed  rebel,  watching  from  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

"Now  who  will  buy  my  apples?"  he  shouted,  long  and  loud; 
And  "  Who  wants  my  potatoes  ?  "  he  repeated  to  the  crowd  ; 
But  from  all  the  people  round  him  came  no  word  of  a  reply, 
Save  the  black-eyed  rebel,  answering  from  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

For  she  knew  that  'neath  the  lining  of  the  coat  he  wore  that  day. 
Were  long  letters  from  the  husbands  and  the  fathers  far  away, 
Who  were  fighting  for  the  freedom  that  they  meant  to  gain  or  die ; 
And  a  tear  like  silver  glistened  in  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

But  the  treasures — how  to  get  them  ?  crept  the  question  through 

her  mind. 
Since  keen  enemies  were  watching  for  what  prizes  they  might  find  : 
And  she  paused  a  while  and  pondered,  with  a  pretty  little  sigh; 
Then  resolve  crept  through  her  features,  and  a  shrewdness  fired 

her  eye. 


174  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

So  she  resolutely  walked  up  to  the  wagon  old  and  red  ; 

"  May  I  have  a  dozen  apples  for  a  kiss  ?  "  she  sweetly  said  : 

And  the  brown  face  flushed  to  scarlet ;  for  the  boy  was  somewhat 

shy, 
And  he  saw  her  laughing  at  him  from  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

"You  may  have  them  all  for  nothing,  and  more,  if  you  want," 

quoth  he. 
"  I  will  have  them,  my  good  fellow,  but  can  pay  for  them,"  said 

she; 
And  she  clambered  on  the  wagon,  minding  not  who  all  were  by. 
With  a  laugh  of  reckless  romping  in  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

Clinging  round  his  brawny  neck,  she  clasped  her  fingers  white 
and  small, 

And  then  whispered,  "  Quick  !  the  letters  !  thrust  them  under- 
neath my  shawl ! 

Carry  back  again  this  package,  and  be  sure  that  you  are  spry  !  " 

And  she  sweetly  smiled  upon  him  from  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

Loud  the  motley  crowd  were  laughing  at  the  strange,  ungirlish 

freak, 
And  the  boy  was  scared  and  panting,  and  so  dashed  he  could  not 

speak ; 
And,  "Miss,  /have  good  apples,"  a  bolder  lad  did  cry; 
But  she  answered,  "No,  I  thank  you,"  from  the  corner  of  her 

eye. 

With  the  news  of  loved  ones  absent  to  the  dear  friends  they  would 

greet. 
Searching  them  who  hungered  for  them,  swift  she  glided  through 

the  street. 
"There  is  nothing  worth  the  doing  that  it  does  not  pay  to  try,' 
Thought  the  little  black-eyed  rebel,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eye. 


it 


XXXI 

Molly  Maguire  at  Monmouth 

The  British  army,  which  had  wintered  in  Philadel- 
phia, evacuated  that  city  on  June  i8,  1778,  and  started 
to  march  to  New  York.  General  Howe,  who  had  been 
in  command,  was  succeeded  by  Sir  Henry  Clinton.  As 
soon  as  Washington  learned  of  the  British  movement 
he  started  in  pursuit,  and  on  Sunday,  June  28th,  ordered 
General  Charles  Lee,  who  commanded  the  advance 
guard,  to  attack  the  British  left  wing  near  Monmouth 
Court-House  in  New  Jersey.  Lee  chose  to  disregard 
Washington's  orders,  and  instead  of  attacking  ordered 
his  men  to  withdraw.  Surprised  at  these  tactics  the 
Americans  were  thrown  into  disorder,  when  Wash- 
ington himself,  who  had  been  hurriedly  sent  for  by 
General  Lafayette,  dashed  up  to  the  advance  guard, 
and,  white  with  anger  at  Lee's  lack  of  courage  or 
judgment,  ordered  him  to  the  rear.  Washington  then 
took  command,  re-formed  the  scattered  troops,  and, 
although  the  British  had  secured  a  much  more  favor- 
able position,  succeeded  in  driving  them  back.  The 
battle  was  ended  by  night,  and  Clinton  managed  to 
get  his  army  away  under  cover  of  the  darkness. 

Washington's  rebuke  to  Lee  was  one  of  the  incidents 
that  made  the  battle  memorable.  But  equally  historic 
was  the  story  of  Molly  Maguire  or  Molly  Pitcher.  This 
woman    was   a  sturdy,  red-haired,  freckle-faced    Irish 


1/6  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

woman,  who  had  accompanied  her  husband,  a  can- 
nonier,  on  the  march.  During  the  battle  she  carried 
water  to  him  as  he  served  his  cannon.  In  the  thick 
of  the  fighting  he  was  killed  at  his  post  by  a  bullet, 
Molly  seized  the  rammer  as  it  fell  from  his  hand,  and 
sprang  to  his  place  by  the  gun.  She  stood  to  her 
post,  and  handled  the  cannon  as  skilfully  as  any  of  the 
regular  cannoniers.  The  story  of  her  bravery  spread 
through  the  American  ranks,  and  on  the  morning  after 
the  batde  General  Washington  sent  for  her,  and  gave 
her  a  commision  as  sergeant  in  the  Continental  Army. 
She  is  usually  known  as  Molly  Pitcher,  but  William 
Collins  chose  to  call  her  Molly  Maguire. 

MOLLY  MAGUIRE  AT  MONMOUTH 
By  William  Collins 

On  the  bloody  field  of  Monmouth 

Flashed  the  guns  of  Greene  and  Wayne. 
Fiercely  roared  the  tide  of  battle. 

Thick  the  sward  was  heaped  with  slain. 
Foremost,  facing  death  and  danger, 

Hessian,  horse,  and  grenadier. 
In  the  vanguard,  fiercely  fighting, 

Stood  an  Irish  Cannonier. 

Loudly  roared  his  iron  cannon, 

Mingling  ever  in  the  strife, 
And  beside  him,  firm  and  daring, 

Stood  his  faithful  Irish  wife. 
Of  her  bold  contempt  of  danger 

Greene  and  Lee's  Brigades  could  tell, 
Every  one  knew  "  Captain  Molly," 

And  the  army  loved  her  well. 


33 

n 


> 

-J 


O 

G 

H 


^^/^ 


MOLLY  MAGUIRE  AT  MONMOUTH        177 

Surged  the  roar  of  battle  round  them, 

Swifdy  flew  the  iron  hail, 
Forward  dashed  a  thousand  bayonets, 

That  lone  battery  to  assail. 
From  the  foeman's  foremost  columns 

Swept  a  furious  fusillade, 
Mowing  down  the  massed  battalions 

In  the  ranks  of  Greene's  Brigade. 

Fast  and  faster  worked  the  gunner, 

Soiled  with  powder,  blood,  and  dust, 
English  bayonets  shone  before  him, 

Shot  and  shell  around  him  burst ; 
Still  he  fought  with  reckless  daring, 

Stood  and  manned  her  long  and  well, 
Till  at  last  the  gallant  fellow 

Dead — beside  his  cannon  fell. 

With  a  bitter  cry  of  sorrow. 

And  a  dark  and  angry  frown, 
Looked  that  band  of  gallant  patriots 
At  their  gunner  stricken  down. 
*'  Fall  back,  comrades,  it  is  folly 

Thus  to  strive  against  the  foe." 
"No  !  not  so,"  cried  Irish  Molly; 
'*  We  can  strike  another  blow." 
***** 

Quickly  leaped  she  to  the  cannon, 

In  her  fallen  husband's  place, 
Sponged  and  rammed  it  fast  and  steady, 

Fired  it  in  the  foeman's  face. 
Flashed  another  ringing  volley, 

Roared  another  from  the  gun  ; 
"  Boys,  hurrah  !  "  cried  gallant  Molly, 

"  For  the  flag  of  Washington." 


178  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Greene's  Brigade,  though  shorn  and  shattered, 

Slain  and  bleeding  half  their  men, 
When  they  heard  that  Irish  slogan, 

Turned  and  charged  the  foe  again. 
Knox  and  Wayne  and  Morgan  rally, 

To  the  front  they  forward  wheel, 
And  before  their  rushing  onset 

Clinton's  English  columns  reel. 

Still  the  cannon's  voice  in  anger 

Rolled  and  rattled  o'er  the  plain. 
Till  there  lay  in  swarms  around  it 

Mangled  heaps  of  Hessian  slain. 
«<  Forward  !  charge  them  with  the  bayonet ! " 

'Twas  the  voice  of  Washington, 
And  there  burst  a  fiery  greeting 

From  the  Irish  woman's  gun. 

Monckton  falls ;  against  his  columns 

Leap  the  troops  of  Wayne  and  Lee, 
And  before  their  reeking  bayonets 

Clinton's  red  battalions  flee. 
Morgan's  rifles,  fiercely  flashing, 

Thin  the  foe's  retreating  ranks, 
And  behind  them  onward  dashing 

Ogden  hovers  on  their  flanks. 

Fast  they  fly,  these  boasting  Britons, 

Who  in  all  their  glory  came, 
With  their  brutal  Hessian  hirelings 

To  wipe  out  our  country's  name. 
Proudly  floats  the  starry  banner, 

Monmouth's  glorious  field  is  won. 
And  in  triumph  Irish  Molly 

Stands  beside  her  smoking  gun. 


XXXII 

Song  of  Marion's  Men 

The  British  had  succeeded  in  defeating  most  of  the 
American  troops  in  South  Carolina  by  1780,  and  had 
laid  waste  much  of  that  state,  confiscating  plantations, 
burning  houses,  and  hanging  such  as  they  termed 
traitors  without  giving  them  any  form  of  trial.  The 
city  of  Charleston  surrendered  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton, 
the  American  General  Gates  was  defeated  at  the  battle 
of  Camden,  August  16,  1780,  and  General  Sumter  at 
Fishing  Creek  August  18,  1780.  After  that  there  was 
only  one  organized  American  force  in  South  Carolina, 
*•  Marion's  Brigade,"  as  it  was  called.  This  was  a  band 
of  troopers  led  by  General  Francis  Marion,  a  native  of 
South  Carolina,  whose  ancestors  were  Huguenot  ref- 
ugees. At  first  his  troop  contained  only  twenty  men, 
but  more  joined  his  band,  and  for  three  years  they 
carried  on  irregular  w^arfare,  harassing  the  British 
forces  more  than  regular  soldiers  could  have  done. 

Marion's  men  defeated  a  large  body  of  Tories  at 
Briton's  Neck  without  losing  a  single  man,  and  soon 
after  beat  the  enemy  twice  by  sudden  attacks  when 
the  Tories  were  unaware  of  armed  men  being  near. 
Marion  managed  to  escape  General  Tarleton  by  dis- 
appearing into  a  swamp  after  a  chase  of  twenty-five 
miles.     This    won    the    daring    leader    the   name   of 


i8o  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

"  Swamp  Fox,"  by  which  he  was  known  all  through 
the  countryside. 

After  the  battle  of  King's  Mountain  more  recruits 
joined  the  band.  In  December,  1780,  Marion  tried  to 
capture  Georgetown,  but  failed.  His  nephew,  Gabriel 
Marion,  was  taken  prisoner,  and  as  soon  as  his  name 
was  learned  he  was  executed.  The  "  Swamp  Fox  "  led 
his  band  back  to  a  well-hidden  island  known  as  Swan 
Island,  and  made  many  sorties  through  the  everglades 
and  forests.  Again  and  again  he  attacked  the  British 
along  the  Santee  and  Pedee  Rivers.  He  was  never 
cruel  to  prisoners,  and  won  a  high  name  for  his  leader- 
ship as  well  as  for  his  own  bravery. 

Marion's  men  succeeded  in  capturing  Georgetown 
on  their  third  attempt,  and  fought  in  the  battle  of 
Eutaw  Springs,  September  8,  1781,  which  practically 
ended  the  British  occupation  of  that  part  of  the  new 
United  States  of  America. 

Marion  has  always  been  one  of  the  most  popular 
heroes  of  the  Revolution,  and  the  "  Swamp  Fox  "  well 
deserved  his  fame.  He  was  a  gallant  leader,  and  the 
British  and  Tories  admitted  that,  although  he  fought 
them  by  stealth,  he  was  never  a  treacherous  foe. 


SONG  OF  MARION'S  MEN 
By  William  Ctillen  Bryant 

Our  band  is  few,  but  true  and  tried, 
Our  leader  frank  and  bold ; 

The  British  soldier  trembles 
When  Marion's  name  is  tola. 


Marion  and  His  Men 


SONG  OF  MARION'S  MEN  i8i 

Our  fortress  is  the  good  greenwood, 

Our  tent  the  cypress-tree  ; 
We  know  the  forest  round  us, 

As  seamen  know  the  sea ; 
We  know  its  walks  of  thorny  vines, 

Its  glades  of  reedy  grass. 
Its  safe  and  silent  islands 

Within  the  dark  morass. 


Woe  to  the  English  soldiery 

That  little  dread  us  near  ! 
On  them  shall  light  at  midnight 

A  strange  and  sudden  fear  ; 
When,  waking  to  their  tents  on  fire, 

They  grasp  their  arras  in  vain, 
And  they  who  stand  to  face  us 

Are  beat  to  earth  again  ; 
And  they  who  fly  in  terror  deem 

A  mighty  host  behind, 
And  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

Upon  the  hollow  wind. 

Then  sweet  the  hour  that  brings  release 

From  danger  and  from  toil ; 
We  talk  the  battle  over. 

And  share  the  battle's  spoil. 
The  woodland  rings  with  laugh  and  shout, 

As  if  a  hunt  were  up, 
And  woodland  flowers  are  gathered 

To  crown  the  soldier's  cup. 
With  merry  songs  we  mock  the  wind 

That  in  the  pine-top  grieves. 
And  slumber  long  and  sweetly 

On  beds  of  oaken  leaves. 


i82  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Well  knows  the  fair  and  friendly  moon 

The  band  that  Marion  leads  — 
The  glitter  of  their  rifles, 

The  scampering  of  their  steeds. 
'Tis  life  to  guide  the  fiery  barb 

Across  the  moonlight  plain ; 
'Tis  life  to  feel  the  night-wind 

That  lifts  his  tossing  mane. 
A  moment  in  the  British  camp  — 

A  moment  —  and  away, 
Back  to  the  pathless  forest, 

Before  the  peep  of  day. 

Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  Santee, 

Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs ; 
Their  hearts  are  all  with  Marion, 

For  Marion  are  their  prayers. 
And  lovely  ladies  greet  our  band, 

With  kindest  welcoming, 
With  smiles  like  those  of  summer, 

And  tears  like  those  of  spring. 
For  them  we  wear  these  trusty  arms, 

And  lay  them  down  no  more 
Till  we  have  driven  the  Briton, 

Forever,  from  our  shore. 


XXXIII 

Hail  Columbia 

In  1798  the  United  States  Congress  authorized  the 
enrollment  of  an  army  of  ten  thousand  men,  and  in- 
structed the  President  to  order  the  captains  of  all 
American  war-ships  to  seize  any  armed  French  vessels 
that  were  found  hovering  near  the  coast  and  attacking 
American  merchantmen.  Patriotic  feeling  ran  high, 
and  Joseph  Hopkinson  of  Philadelphia  wrote  this  poem 
to  express  the  feelings  of  the  times. 

This  letter  from  Joseph  Hopkinson  is  given  in  "  Poets 
and  Poetry  of  America,"  edited  by  Rev.  R.  W.  Gris- 
wold.  *'  It  [Hail  Columbia]  was  written  in  the  summer 
of  1798,  when  war  with  France  was  thought  to  be  in- 
evitable. Congress  was  then  in  session  in  Philadelphia, 
deliberating  upon  that  important  subject,  and  acts  of 
hostility  had  actually  taken  place.  The  contest  between 
England  and  France  was  raging,  and  the  people  of  the 
United  States  were  divided  into  parties  for  the  one  side 
or  the  other,  some  thinking  that  policy  and  duty  re- 
quired us  to  espouse  the  cause  of  republican  France,  as 
she  was  called  ;  while  others  were  for  connecting  our- 
selves with  England,  under  the  belief  that  she  was  the 
great  conservative  power  of  good  principles  and  safe 
government.  The  violation  of  our  rights  by  both  bel- 
ligerents was  forcing  us  from  the  just  and  wise  policy 
of  President  Washington,  which  was  to  do  equal  justice 


1 84  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

to  both,  to  take  part  with  neither,  but  to  preserve  a 
strict  and  honest  neutrality  between  them.     The  pros- 
pect of  a  rupture  with  France  was  exceedingly  offensive 
to  that  portion  of  the  people  who  espoused  her  cause, 
and  the  violence  of  the  spirit  of  party  has  never  risen 
higher,  1  think  not  so  high,  in  our  country,  as  it  did  at 
that  time,  upon  that  question.     The  theatre  was  then 
open  in  our  city.     A  young  man  belonging  to  it,  whose 
talent  was  as  a  singer,  was  about  to  take  his  benefit.     I 
had  known  him  when  he  was  at  school.     On  this  ac- 
quaintance, he  called  on  me  one  Saturday  afternoon, 
his  benefit  being  announced  for  the  following  Monday. 
His  prospects  were  very  disheartening  ;  but  he  said  that 
if  he  could  get  a  patriotic  song  adapted  to  the  tune  of 
the   '  President's  March,'   he  did  not  doubt  of  a  full 
house ;  that  the  poets  of  the  theatrical  corps  had  been 
trying  to  accomplish  it,  but  had  not  succeeded.     I  told 
him  I  would  try  what  I  could  do  for  him.     The  object 
of  the  author  was  to  get  up  an  American  spirit,  which 
should  be  independent  of  and  above  the  interests,  pas- 
sions, and  policy  of  both  belligerents :  and  look  and 
feel  exclusively  for  our  own  honor  and  rights.     No  al- 
lusion is  made  to   France  or  England,  or  the  quarrel 
between  them  :  or  to  the  question,  which  was  the  most 
at  fault  in  their  treatment  of  us :  of  course  the  song 
found  favor  with  both  parties,  for  both  were  Americans  ; 
at  least  neither  could  disavow  the  sentiments  and  feel- 
ings it  inculcated." 

The  song  was  first  sung  at  the  Chestnut  Street  The- 
atre in  Philadelphia,  in  May,  1798  ;  and  became  tremen- 
dously popular. 


HAIL  COLUMBIA  185 

The  air  co  which  it  was  sung  was  one  written  by 
Phyla,  a  naturalized  German,  living  in  Philadelphia, 
an  air  which  had  been  used  at  the  inauguration  of 
Washington,  and  was  known  as  "The  President's 
March." 


HAIL  COLUMBIA 

By  Joseph  Hopkinso7i 

Hail !  Columbia,  happy  land  ! 
Hail  !  ye  heroes,  heav'n-born  band, 
Who  fought  and  bled  in  freedom's  cause, 
Who  fought  and  bled  in  freedom's  cause, 
And  when  the  storm  of  war  was  gone, 
Enjoyed  the  peace  your  valor  won ; 
Let  independence  be  your  boast. 
Ever  mindful  what  it  cost, 
Ever  grateful  for  the  prize. 
Let  its  altar  reach  the  skies ; 
Firm,  united  let  us  be, 
Rallying  round  our  liberty, 
As  a  band  of  brothers  joined. 
Peace  and  safety  we  shall  find. 

Immortal  patriots,  rise  once  more  ! 
Defend  your  rights,  defend  your  shore ; 
Let  no  rude  foe  with  impious  hand, 
Let  no  rude  foe  with  impious  hand, 
Invade  the  shrine  where  sacred  lies 
Of  toil  and  blood  the  well-earned  prize; 
While  offering  peace,  sincere  and  just. 
In  Heav'n  we  place  a  manly  trust. 
That  truth  and  justice  may  prevail. 
And  every  scheme  of  bondage  fail. 


i86  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Sound,  sound  the  trump  of  fame  ! 
Let  Washington's  great  name 
Ring  through  the  world  with  loud  applause ! 
Ring  through  the  world  with  loud  applause  1 
Let  every  clime  to  freedom  dear 
Listen  with  a  joyful  ear ; 
With  equal  skill,  with  steady  pow'r, 
,  He  governs  in  the  fearful  hour 

Of  horrid  war,  or  guides  with  ease 
The  happier  time  of  honest  peace. 

Behold  the  chief,  who  now  commands, 
Once  more  to  serve  his  country  stands, 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat ! 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat ! 
But  armed  in  virtue,  firm  and  true, 
His  hopes  are  fixed  on  Heav'n  and  you. 
When  hope  was  sinking  in  dismay, 
When  gloom  obscured  Columbia's  day, 
His  steady  mind,  from  changes  free, 
Resolved  on  death  or  liberty. 
Firm,  united  let  us  be. 
Rallying  round  our  liberty, 
As  a  band  of  brothers  joined. 
Peace  and  safety  we  shall  find. 


XXXIV 

Casabianca 

The  story  of  this  brave  boy  has  become  famous 
through  Mrs.  Hemans'  poem,  but,  although  the  inci- 
dents related  in  it  have  been  ascribed  to  a  number  of 
battles  at  sea,  there  is  no  historical  proof  that  such  a 
boy  took  part  in  any  of  them.  Usually,  however,  he 
is  spoken  of  as  the  ten-year-old  son  of  Admiral  Brueys, 
commander  of  the  French  man-of-war  Z'  Orient. 

This  ship  was  engaged  in  the  battle  of  the  Nile 
fought  between  Napoleon  and  the  English  on  August 
I,  1798.  Nelson  was  in  command  of  the  English  fleet, 
and  won  one  of  his  greatest  victories.  During  the 
battle  the  French  Admiral  Brueys  was  mortally 
wounded,  and  was  left  on  the  deck  of  his  ship.  As 
night  came  on  the  ship  was  seen  to  be  on  fire,  and 
Nelson  ordered  his  men  to  board  her  and  rescue  the 
officers  and  crew.  All  the  Frenchmen  left  except  the 
boy  Casabianca,  who  refused  to  go,  saying  that  his 
father  had  told  him  not  to  leave  the  ship,  and  that  he 
could  not  disobey  that  order. 

The  man-of-war  was  in  danger  of  blowing  up  at  any 
minute,  and  the  English  sailors  had  to  put  off  in  their 
boats.  They  had  barely  time  to  pull  away  before  the 
flames  reached  the  powder  and  the  ship  exploded. 

Although  it  cannot  be  said  positively  that  Casabianca 


iS8  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

was  the  boy  of  the  battle  of  the  Nile  facts  seem  to 
prove  that  a  boy  did  such  an  act  at  that  battle. 


CASABIANCA 
By  Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans 

The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck 
Whence  all  but  him  had  fled  ; 

The  flame  that  lit  the  battle's  wreck 
Shone  round  him  o'er  the  dead. 

Yet  beautiful  and  bright  he  stood, 

As  born  to  rule  the  storm  ; 
A  creature  of  heroic  blood, 

A  proud,  though  childlike  form. 

The  flames  rolled  on — he  would  not  go 

Without  his  father's  word  ; 
That  father,  faint  in  death  below, 

His  voice  no  longer  heard. 

He  called  aloud—"  Say,  father,  say, 

If  yet  my  task  is  done  ?  " 
He  knew  not  that  the  chieftain  lay 

Unconscious  of  his  son. 

"  Speak,  father  !  "  once  again  he  cried, 

"  If  I  may  yet  be  gone  !  " 
And  but  the  booming  shots  replied. 

And  fast  the  flames  rolled  on. 

Upon  his  brow  he  felt  their  breath. 

And  in  his  waving  hair, 
And  looked  from  that  lone  post  of  death 

In  still,  yet  brave  despair. 


CASABIANCA  189 

And  sliouted  but  once  more  aloud, 

"  My  father  !  must  I  stay  ?  " 
While  o'er  him  fast,  through  sail  and  shroud, 

The  wreathing  fires  made  way. 

They  wrapt  the  shij)  in  splendor  wild, 

They  cauglit  the  flag  on  high, 
And  streamed  above  the  gallant  child. 

Like  banners  in  the  sky. 

There  came  a  burst  of  thunder  sound 

The  boy — oh  !  where  was  he  ? 
Ask  of  the  winds  that  far  around 

With  fragments  strewed  the  sea  !  — 

With  mast,  and  helm,  and  pennon  fair 

That  well  had  borne  their  part 

But  the  noblest  thing  that  perished  there 

Was  that  young,  faithful  heart. 


XXXV 

Hohenlinden 

The  little  village  of  Hohenlinden,  or  Linden,  as  it 
was  often  called,  stands  in  a  pine  forest  of  Upper 
Bavaria,  on  the  banks  of  the  swift-flowing  river  Iser, 
about  twenty  miles  distant  from  Munich.  In  Decem- 
ber, 1800,  two  great  armies,  the  one  Austrian,  the  other 
French  and  Bavarian,  commanded  by  Napoleon's  Gen- 
eral Moreau,  drew  close  to  each  other  along  the  river. 
Snow  had  been  falling  for  several  days.  The  weather 
was  bitterly  cold.  The  armies  opened  fire,  however, 
and  a  great  battle  was  fought  in  the  forest,  although 
the  snow-storm  was  so  blinding  that  the  soldiers  could 
only  distinguish  their  enemies  by  the  fiash  of  their 
guns.  The  battle  raged  through  the  woods,  across  the 
hills,  and  along  the  river.  The  French  and  Bavarians 
finally  won,  and  the  Emperor  of  Austria  had  to  accept 
Napoleon's  terms  of  peace  in  order  to  save  his  capital 
of  Vienna  from  capture.  In  the  poem  "  Frank  "  means 
the  French,  "  Hun "  stands  for  the  Austrians,  and 
"  Munich  "  refers  to  the  Bavarians  and  their  capital. 

During  his  travels  in  Germany  the  English  poet 
Campbell  saw  a  battle  from  a  convent  near  Ratisbon, 
and  he  also  visited  the  field  of  Ingolstadt  after  a  battle. 
From  these  experiences  he  wrote  his  poem  on  Hohen- 
linden. 


HOHENLINDEN  191 

HOHENLINDEN 
By  Thomas  Cavipbell 

On  Linden  when  tlie  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow, 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight 
When  the  drum  beat,  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  arrayed 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle  blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neighed. 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven, 
Then  rushed  the  steed  to  battle  driven, 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  heaven 
Far  flashed  the  red  artillery. 

And  redder  yet  those  fires  shall  glow 
On  Linden's  hills  of  blood-stained  snow, 
And  darker  yet  shall  be  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

'Tis  morn,  but  scarce  yon  lurid  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling  dun, 
Where  furious  Frank  and  fiery  Hun 
Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 


192  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  brave, 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave  ! 
Wave,  Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave  ! 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry  I 

Ah  !  few  shall  jiart  where  many  meet ! 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet, 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre. 


XXXVI 

Battle  of  the  Baltic 

At  the  time  when  Napoleon  I  was  Emperor  of  the 
French  England  was  practically  the  only  country  that 
could  hold  its  own  against  him,  and  this  was  chiefly 
due  to  the  victories  won  by  the  British  navy  under 
Lord  Nelson.  During  the  long  contest  with  France 
the  government  of  England  claimed  the  right  to  search 
all  neutral  ships,  for  the  purpose  of  preventing  secret 
trade  with  France.  This  claim  was  resisted  by  several 
other  nations,  and  in  1800  Russia,  Sweden,  Prussia, 
and  Denmark  formed  an  alliance  known  as  the 
"  Second  Armed  Neutrality,"  for  the  purpose  of  op- 
posing the  claim. 

The  English  sent  a  fleet  of  fifty-two  ships  to  the 
Baltic  to  break  up  the  alliance.  Horatio  Nelson  was 
second  in  command.  He  was  assigned  the  attack 
when,  on  March  30,  1801,  his  advance  squadron  of 
thirty-six  vessels  entered  the  Danish  harbor  of  Copen- 
hagen. The  British  commander.  Sir  Hyde  Parker, 
gave  the  signal  to  cease  firing  after  the  battle  had 
raged  for  three  hours.  Nelson  saw  the  signal,  but 
placing  his  spy-glass  to  his  blind  eye,  said  to  his 
lieutenants,  "  I  really  don't  see  the  signal.  Keep  mine 
for  closer  battle  still  flying.  That's  the  way  I  answer 
such  signals.     Nail  mine   to  the   mast."     The    battle 


194  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

lasted  for  five  hours,  and  ended  in  complete  victory 
for  the  English  fleet.  As  a  reward  for  his  skill  in  this 
battle,  which  Nelson  declared  was  the  most  terrible  in 
which  he  had  ever  taken  part,  he  was  made  a  viscount 
and  given  the  thanks  of  the  English  Parliament. 


BATTLE  OF  THE  BALTIC 

By  Thomas  Campbell 

Of  Nelson  and  the  north 

Sing  the  glorious  day's  renown, 
When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth 

All  the  might  of  Denmark's  crown, 
And  her  arms  along  the  deep  proudly  shone ; 

By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand 

In  a  bold,  determined  hand, 

And  the  prince  of  all  the  land 
Led  them  on. 

Like  leviathans  afloat 

Lay  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine ; 
While  the  sign  of  battle  flew 

On  the  lofty  British  line  — 
It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime. 

As  they  drifted  on  their  path 

There  was  silence  deep  as  death  ; 

And  the  boldest  held  his  breath 
For  a  time. 

But  the  might  of  England  flushed 

To  anticipate  the  scene ; 
And  her  van  the  fleeter  rushed 

O'er  the  deadly  space  between. 


BATTLE  OF  THE  BALTIC  195 

"  Hearts  of  oak  !  "  our  captain  cried ;  when  each  gun 
From  its  adamantine  lips 
Spread  a  death-shade  round  the  ships. 
Like  the  hurricane  ecHpse 

Of  the  sun. 

Again  !  again  !  again  ! 

And  the  havoc  did  not  slack, 
Till  a  feeble  cheer  the  Dane 

To  our  cheering  sent  us  back  ; 
Their  shots  along  the  deep  slowly  boom  — 

Then  ceased  —  and  all  is  wail, 

As  they  strike  the  shattered  sail. 

Or  in  conflagration  pale. 
Light  the  gloom. 

Out  spoke  the  victor  then, 

As  he  hailed  them  o'er  the  wave: 
"  Ye  are  brothers  !  ye  are  men  ! 

And  we  conquer  but  to  save  ; 
So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  bring; 

But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet, 

With  the  crews,  at  England's  feet, 

And  make  submission  meet 
To  our  king." 

Then  Denmark  blessed  our  chief, 

That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose; 
And  the  sounds  of  joy  and  grief 

From  her  people  wildly  rose, 
As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  the  day. 

While  the  sun  looked  smiling  bright 

O'er  a  wide  and  woeful  sight, 

Where  the  fires  of  funeral  light 
Died  away. 


iy6  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Now  joy,  old  England,  raise  ! 

For  the  tidings  of  thy  might, 
By  the  festal  cities'  blaze, 

Whilst  the  wine-cup  shines  in  light ; 
And  yet,  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar, 

Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep 

Full  many  a  fathom  deep, 

By  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinore  ! 

Brave  hearts  !  to  Britain's  pride 

Once  so  faithful  and  so  true, 
On  the  deck  of  fame  that  died, 

With  the  gallant,  good  Riou  — 
Soft  sigh  the  winds  of  heaven  o'er  their  grave  t 

While  the  billow  mournful  rolls, 

And  the  mermaid's  song  condoles, 

Singing  glory  to  the  souls 
Of  the  brave  1 


XXXVII 

An  Incident  of  the  French  Camp 

The  old  city  of  Ratisbon,  which  is  called  Regens- 
burg  in  German,  is  situated  on  the  river  Danube, 
in  Bavaria.  It  had  been  besieged  no  less  than 
sixteen  times  since  the  tenth  century  when  Napoleon, 
Emperor  of  the  French,  attacked  it  in  1809.  Napoleon 
was  at  that  time  waging  a  victorious  campaign  against 
Austria,  and  had  stopped  at  Ratisbon  on  his  march  to 
Vienna,  the  Austrian  capital.  The  Austrians  defended 
the  city,  and  Napoleon  ordered  a  bombardment,  which 
destroyed  some  two  hundred  houses  and  a  large  part 
of  the  suburbs. 

The  poem  tells  how  as  Napoleon  stood  in  his  favorite 
attitude,  head  thrust  forward,  legs  wide  apart,  arms 
locked  behind  his  back,  watching  the  attack,  and  pos- 
sibly wondering  what  would  happen  if  his  general, 
Marshal  Lannes,  should  waver,  a  rider  dashed  up  to 
him.  The  rider,  a  boy,  flung  himself  from  his  horse, 
and  reported  that  the  French  had  taken  the  city,  that 
he  had  planted  the  Emperor's  eagle  fiag  on  the  walls, 
and  had  ridden  back  a  mile  or  more  to  tell  him. 

Napoleon's  eye  flashed,  then  softened  as  he  looked 
at  the  brave  boy.  "  You're  wounded  !"  he  said.  "Nay, 
I'm  killed,  sire,"  the  boy  answered,  and  fell  dead  beside 
him. 


198  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

The  incident  is  generally  regarded  as  true,  but  the 
hero  is  said  to  have  been  a  man,  instead  of  a  boy,  as  in 
Browning's  version  of  it. 


AN  INCIDENT  OF  THE  FRENCH  CAMP 
By  Robei't  Browning 

You  know  we  French  stormed  Ratisbon : 

A  mile  or  so  away, 
On  a  little  mound,  Napoleon 

Stood  on  our  storming-day  ; 
With  neck  out-thrust,  you  fancy  how. 

Legs  wide,  arms  locked  behind, 
As  if  to  balance  the  prone  brow, 

Oppressive  with  its  mind. 

Just  as  perhaps  he  mused,  "  My  plans 

That  soar,  to  earth  may  fall, 
Let  once  my  army-leader  Lannes 

Waver  at  yonder  wall," — 
Out  'twixt  the  battery-smokes  there  flew 

A  rider,  bound  on  bound 
Full-galloping  ;  nor  bridle  drew 

Until  he  reached  the  mound. 

Then  off  there  flung  in  smiling  joy, 

And  held  himself  erect 
By  just  his  horse's  mane,  a  boy  : 

You  hardly  could  suspect  — 
(So  tight  he  kept  his  lips  compressed, 

Scarce  any  blood  came  through) 
You  looked  twice  ere  you  saw  his  breast 

Was  all  but  shot  in  two. 


AN  INCIDENT  OF  THE  FRENCH  CAMP    199 

"  Well,"  cried  he,  "Emperor,  by  God's  grace 

We've  got  you  Ratisbon  ! 
The  marshal's  in  the  market-place, 

And  you'll  be  there  anon 
To  see  your  flag-bird  flap  his  vans 

Where  I,  to  heart's  desire, 
Perched  him  !  "    The  chief  s  eye  flashed;  hisplans 

Soared  up  again  like  fire. 

The  chief's  eye  flashed ;  but  presently 

Softened  itself,  as  sheathes 
A  film  the  mother  eagle's  eye 

When  her  bruised  eaglet  breathes ; 
<*  You're  wounded  !  "     "  Nay,"  his  soldier's  pride 

Touched  to  the  quick,  he  said  : 
*'  I'm  killed,  sire  !  "     And,  his  chief  beside, 
Smiling,  the  boy  fell  dead. 


XXXVIII 

The  Star-Spangled  Banner 

During  the  War  of  1812  between  the  United  States 
and  England  the  British  fleet,  under  Admiral  Sir  George 
Cockborn,  on  September  13,  1814,  began  the  bombard- 
ment of  Fort  McHenry,  which  was  situated  two  miles 
above  Baltimore.  The  English  forces  had  captured 
several  Americans  at  a  place  called  Marlborough  and 
were  detaining  them,  although  some  were  civilians.  A 
gentleman  of  Baltimore,  Francis  Scott  Key  by  name, 
set  out  with  a  flag  of  truce  to  try  to  secure  the  release 
of  one  of  these  civilians,  who  was  a  friend  of  his.  He 
reached  the  mouth  of  the  Patuxent  when  he  was  cap- 
tured. The  British  feared  to  let  him  return  to  Balti- 
more lest  he  should  disclose  their  plans  for  taking  the 
city,  and  so  Key  was  brought  up  Chesapeake  Bay  and 
put  on  board  the  admiral's  flag-ship. 

The  English  officers  on  the  ship  were  confident  that 
Fort  McHenry  would  surrender  and  Baltimore  be  easily 
captured,  and  Key  had  to  listen  to  their  predictions  and 
watch  the  bombardment  all  day.  The  American  flag 
was  still  flying  from  the  fort  when  night  prevented  his 
watching  it  longer.  The  bombardment  continued  all 
night,  but  at  dawn  on  September  14th  Key  saw  that  the 
flag  still  bade  defiance  to  the  fleet.  At  a  white-heat  of 
emotion   Key  then  and  there  wrote  the  lines  of  •'  The 


THE  STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER  20l 

Star-Spangled  Banner,"  one  of  the  most  stirring  of  all 
American  songs. 

The  first  copy  of  the  song  was  written  on  the  British 
flag-ship  while  the  guns  were  thundering.  As  soon  as 
he  was  released  Key  hurried  back  to  Baltimore  and  there 
corrected  what  he  had  written.  He  then  took  it  to  a 
printer,  who  struck  it  off  as  a  broadside,  or  poem  printed 
on  a  large  sheet  of  paper.  As  soon  as  it  appeared  it 
created  enthusiasm  and  sprang  into  quick  fame.  The 
air  to  which  it  was  sung  was  selected  from  a  volume  of 
music  for  the  flute,  and  was  called  "  Anacreon  in 
Heaven,"  an  English  glee  composed  by  Samuel  Arnold. 
This  air  had  already  been  used  for  the  American  pa- 
triotic song  called  "  Adams  and  Liberty."  It  suited  the 
words  of  Key's  poem  well,  and  soon  became  insepa- 
rably connected  with  the  "  Star-Spangled  Banner." 

THE  STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER 
By  Francis  Scott  Key 

O  say,  can  you  see,  by  the  dawn's  early  light, 

What  so  proudly  we  hailed  at  the  twilight's  last  gleaming? 

Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars  through  the  perilous  fight 
O'er  the  ramparts  we  watched  were  so  gallantly  streaming  ! 

And  the  rockets'  red  glare,  the  bombs  bursting  in  air, 

Gave  proof  through  the  night  that  our  flag  was  still  there ; 
Oh,  say,  does  that  star-spangled  banner  yet  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ? 

On  the  shore,  dimly  seen  through  the  mists  of  the  deep, 
Where  the  foe's  haughty  host  in  dread  silence  reposes. 

What  is  that  which  the  breeze  o'er  the  towering  steep. 
As  it  fitfully  blows,  now  conceals,  now  discloses? 


202  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Now  it  catches  the  gleam  of  the  morning's  first  beam, 
In  full  glory  reflected,  now  shines  on  the  stream  ; 
'Tis  the  star-spangled  banner  !     O  long  may  it  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ! 

And  where  is  that  band  who  so  vauntingly  swore 
That  the  havoc  of  war  and  the  battle's  confusion, 

A  home  and  a  country  should  leave  us  no  more? 

Their  blood  has  washed  out  their  foul  footsteps'  pollution. 

No  refuge  could  save  the  hireling  and  slave. 

From  terror  of  flight,  or  the  gloom  of  the  grave  : 
And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  doth  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ! 

Oh  !  thus  be  it  ever,  when  freemen  shall  stand 

Between  their  loved  homes  and  the  war's  desolation  ! 

Blest  with  victory  and  peace,  may  the  heaven-rescued  land 
Praise  the  Power  that  made  and  preserved  us  a  nation  ! 

Then  conquer  we  must,  for  our  cause  it  is  just. 

And  this  be  our  motto  : — "  In  God  is  our  trust !  " 
And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 


XXXIX 

The  Battle  of  New  Orleans 

At  the  same  time  that  British  armies  were  attacking 
Washington  and  Baltimore  and  a  British  squadron 
fighting  that  of  Commodore  Perry  on  Lake  Erie  in 
the  War  of  1812,  England  was  fitting  out  a  secret  ex- 
pedition to  sail  from  Jamaica  and  land  in  Louisiana. 
Fifty  British  ships  carried  7,000  British  soldiers  across 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico  to  the  channel  near  the  entrance 
of  Lake  Borgne,  approaching  the  small  city  of  New 
Orleans  midway  between  the  Mississippi  River  and 
Mobile  Bay.  The  fleet  anchored  here,  and  easily  de- 
feating a  few  American  gunboats,  landed  their  army 
on  an  island  at  the  mouth  of  the  Pearl  River.  They 
intended  to  march  on  New  Orleans  and  capture  it  by 
surprise. 

Andrew  Jackson,  a  major-general  in  the  American 
army,  had  been  sent  to  defend  the  South  from  inva- 
sion. He  reached  New  Orleans  early  in  December, 
1814,  and  at  once  began  to  recruit  volunteers.  All  who 
would  fight  the  enemy  were  welcomed  to  his  camp, 
free  negroes  were  enrolled,  convicts  were  released  to 
become  soldiers,  the  lieutenants  of  a  freebooter  named 
Jean  Lafitte,  who  had  made  his  headquarters  at  Bara- 
taria,  and  many  of  his  men  who  had  been  captured, 
were  freed  to  join  the  army.     Jackson  strengthened 


204  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

the  forts  of  the  city  and  made  every  preparation  to 
receive  the  enemy.  Five  thousand  effective  fighting 
men  were  soon  under  his  command,  less  than  one 
thousand  of  whom  were  soldiers  in  the  regular  army. 

When  the  British  finally  appeared,  it  was  they,  and 
not  the  Americans,  who  were  surprised.  Jackson  at- 
tacked them  as  soon  as  they  were  in  sight,  Decem- 
ber 23,  1814,  and  checked  their  advance.  He  then 
entrenched  his  little  force  opposite  the  British,  and  had 
them  well  sheltered  by  the  time  the  enemy  had  pre- 
pared to  give  battle.  Meantime  the  British  general, 
Pakenham,  had  been  waiting  for  larger  cannon  and 
reinforcements. 

On  January  8,  1815,  the  British  advanced,  planning 
to  carry  the  American  lines  by  storm.  The  British 
had  10,000  veteran  troops,  the  Americans  less  than 
half  that  number,  and  most  of  these  raw  backwoods- 
men. But  Jackson's  men  were  born  to  the  use  of  the 
rifle,  and  their  firing  was  wonderfully  steady  and  accu- 
rate. The  British  had  to  advance  over  a  wide,  bare 
plain,  and  the  American  batteries  ploughed  through 
their  ranks,  while  the  riflemen  met  them  with  a  raking 
fire.  The  veteran  English  fought  with  the  utmost 
bravery,  the  Highlanders  flung  themselves  again  and 
again  at  the  entrenchments,  and  soldiers  who  had 
fought  under  Wellington  in  Spain  and  with  Pakenham 
at  Salamanca  charged  at  the  blazing  line.  Pakenham 
and  many  of  his  highest  officers  were  killed,  and  the 
British  army  was  finally  forced  into  retreat.  They  had 
lost  over  two  thousand  men,  while  the  Americans  were 
reported  to  have  lost  eight  killed  and  thirteen  wounded. 


H 


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THE  BATTLE  OF  NEW  ORLEANS    205 

It  was  an  overwhelming  victory  for  Andrew  Jackson 
and  his  volunteers. 

The  British  returned  to  their  ships  and  sailed  away. 
Neither  side  knew  that  a  treaty  of  peace  had  been 
signed  at  Ghent  in  Brussels  two  weeks  earlier,  and 
that  the  battle  of  New  Orleans  had  been  fought  after 
the  war  had  ended. 

The  story  of  the  battle  is  supposed  to  be  told  in  this 
poem  by  one  of  the  settlers  who  marched  to  New 
Orleans  with  William  Carroll,  major-general  of  the 
Tennessee  militia. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  NEW  ORLEANS 

By  Thomas  Dunn  English, 
(From  "  The  Boys'  Book  of  Battle  Lyrics.") 

Here,  in  my  rude  log  cabin, 

Few  poorer  men  there  be 
Among  the  mountain  ranges 

Of  Eastern  Tennessee. 
My  limbs  are  weak  and  shrunken, 

White  hairs  upon  my  brow. 
My  dog— lie  still,  old  fellow  !— 

My  sole  companion  now. 
Yet  I,  when  young  and  lusty, 

Have  gone  through  stirring  scenes, 
For  I  went  down  with  Carroll 

To  fight  at  New  Orleans. 

You  say  you'd  like  to  hear  me 

The  stirring  story  tell 
Of  those  wlio  stood  the  battle 

And  those  who  fighting  fell. 


2o6  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Short  work  to  count  our  losses  — 

We  stood  and  dropp'd  the  foe 
As  easily  as  by  firelight 

Men  shoot  the  buck  or  doe. 
And  while  they  fell  by  hundreds 

Upon  the  bloody  plain, 
Of  us,  fourteen  were  wounded, 

And  only  eight  were  slain. 

The  eighth  of  January, 

Before  the  break  of  day, 
Our  raw  and  hasty  levies 

Were  brought  into  array. 
No  cotton-bales  before  us  — 

Some  fool  that  falsehood  told ; 
Before  us  was  an  earthwork, 

Built  from  the  swampy  mold. 
And  there  we  stood  in  silence, 

And  waited  with  a  frown, 
To  greet  with  bloody  welcome 

The  bulldogs  of  the  Crown. 

The  heavy  fog  of  morning 

Still  hid  the  plain  from  sight, 
When  came  a  thread  of  scarlet 

Marked  faintly  in  the  white. 
We  fired  a  single  cannon, 

And  as  its  thunders  roU'd 
The  mist  before  us  lifted 

In  many  a  heavy  fold. 
The  mist  before  us  lifted, 

And  in  their  bravery  fine 
Came  rushing  to  their  ruin 

The  fearless  British  line. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  NEW  ORLEANS    207 

Then  from  our  waiting  cannons 

Leap'd  forth  the  deadly  flame. 
To  meet  the  advancing  columns 

That  swift  and  steady  came. 
The  thirty-twos  of  Crowley 

And  Bluchi's  twenty-four, 
To  Spotts's  eighteen-pounders 

Responded  with  their  roar, 
Sending  the  grape-sliot  deadly 

That  marked  its  pathway  plain, 
And  paved  the  road  it  travel' d 

With  corpses  of  the  slain. 

Our  rifles  firmly  grasping, 

And  heedless  of  the  din, 
We  stood  in  silence  waiting 

For  orders  to  begin. 
Our  fingers  on  the  triggers, 

Our  hearts,  with  anger  stirr'd. 
Grew  still  more  fierce  and  eager 

As  Jackson's  voice  was  heard  : 
*' Stand  steady  !     Waste  no  powder ; 

Wait  till  your  shots  will  tell ! 
To-day  the  work  you  finish  — 

See  that  you  do  it  well !  " 

Their  columns  drawing  nearer, 

We  felt  our  patience  tire, 
When  came  the  voice  of  Carroll, 

Distinct  and  measured,  "  Fire  !  " 
Oh  !  then  you  should  have  mark'd  us 

Our  volleys  on  them  pour  — 
Have  heard  our  joyous  rifles 

Ring  sharply  through  the  roar. 


2o8  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

And  seen  tlieir  foremost  columns 

Melt  hastily  away 
As  snow  in  mountain  gorges 

Before  the  floods  of  May. 

They  soon  reform'd  their  columns, 

And  'mid  the  fatal  rain 
We  never  ceased  to  hurtle 

Came  to  their  work  again. 
The  P'orty-fourth  is  with  them, 

That  first  its  laurels  won 
With  stout  old  Abercrombie 

Beneath  an  eastern  sun. 
It  rushes  to  the  battle, 

And,  though  within  the  rear 
Its  leader  is  a  laggard, 

It  shows  no  signs  of  fear. 

It  did  not  need  its  colonel, 

For  soon  there  came  instead. 
An  eagle-eyed  commander, 

And  on  its  march  he  led. 
'Twas  Pakenham,  in  person, 

The  leader  of  the  field  ; 
I  knew  it  by  the  cheering 

That  loudly  round  him  peal'd  ; 
And  by  his  quick,  sharp  movement, 

We  felt  his  heart  was  stirr'd, 
As  when  at  Salamanca, 

He  led  the  fighting  Third. 

I  raised  my  rifle  quickly, 

I  sighted  at  his  breast, 
God  save  the  gallant  leader 

And  take  him  to  his  rest ! 


THE  BATTLE  OF  NEW  ORLEANS  209 

I  did  not  draw  the  trigger, 

I  could  not  for  my  life. 
So  calm  he  sat  his  charger 

Amid  the  deadly  strife, 
That  in  my  fiercest  moment 

A  prayer  arose  from  me, — 
God  save  that  gallant  leader, 

Our  foeman  though  he  be. 


Sir  Edward's  charger  staggers : 

He  leaps  at  once  to  ground. 
And  ere  the  beast  falls  bleeding 

Another  horse  is  found. 
His  right  arm  falls — 'tis  wounded  ; 

He  waves  on  high  his  left ; 
In  vain  he  leads  the  movement, 

The  ranks  in  twain  are  cleft. 
The  men  in  scarlet  waver 

Before  the  men  in  brown. 
And  fly  in  utter  panic  — 

The  soldiers  of  the  Crown  I 

I  thought  the  work  was  over, 

But  nearer  shouts  were  heard, 
And  came,  with  Gibbs  to  head  it, 

The  gallant  Ninety-third. 
Then  Pakenham,  exulting, 

With  proud  and  joyous  glance. 
Cried,  "  Children  of  the  tartan — 

Bold  Highlanders — advance. 
Advance  to  scale  the  breastworks 

And  drive  them  from  their  hold. 
And  show  the  stanchless  courage 

That  niark'd  your  sires  of  old  1  " 


210  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

His  voice  as  yet  was  ringing, 

When,  quick  as  light,  tliere  came 
The  roaring  of  a  cannon, 

And  earth  seemed  all  aflame. 
Who  causes  thus  the  thunder 

The  doom  of  men  to  speak  ? 
It  is  the  Baritarian, 

The  fearless  Dominique. 
Down  through  the  marshall'd  Scotsmen 

The  step  of  death  is  heard, 
And  by  the  fierce  tornado 

Falls  half  the  Ninety-third. 

The  smoke  passed  slowly  upward, 

And,  as  it  soared  on  high, 
I  saw  the  brave  commander 

In  dying  anguish  lie. 
They  bear  him  from  the  battle 

Who  never  fled  the  foe ; 
Unmoved  by  death  around  them 

His  bearers  softly  go. 
In  vain  their  care,  so  gentle, 

Fades  earth  and  all  its  scenes ; 
The  man  of  Salamanca 

Lies  dead  at  New  Orleans. 

But  where  were  his  lieutenants  ? 

Had  they  in  terror  fled  ? 
No  !  Keane  was  sorely  wounded 

And  Gibbs  as  good  as  dead. 
Brave  Wilkinson  commanding, 

A  major  of  brigade. 
The  shatter' d  force  to  rally, 

A  final  effort  made. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  NEW  ORLEANS  211 

He  led  it  up  our  ramparts. 

Small  glory  did  he  gain  — 
Our  captives  some,  while  others  fled. 

And  he  himself  was  slain. 

The  stormers  had  retreated, 

The  bloody  work  was  o'er ; 
The  feet  of  the  invaders 

Were  seen  to  leave  our  shore. 
We  rested  on  our  rifles 

And  talk'd  about  the  fight, 
When  came  a  sudden  murmur 

Like  fire  from  left  to  right ; 
We  turned  and  saw  our  chieftain, 

And  then,  good  friend  of  mine, 
You  should  have  heard  the  cheering 

That  ran  along  the  line. 

For  well  our  men  remembered 

How  little,  when  they  came. 
Had  they  but  native  courage, 

And  trust  in  Jackson's  name ; 
How  through  the  day  he  labored, 

How  kept  the  vigils  still. 
Till  discipline  controlled  us, 

A  stronger  power  than  will ; 
And  how  he  hurled  us  at  them 

Within  the  evening  hour. 
That  red  night  in  December, 

And  made  us  feci  our  power. 

In  answer  to  our  shouting 

Fire  lit  his  eye  of  gray  ; 
Erect,  but  thin  and  pallid, 

He  passed  upon  his  bay. 


212  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Weak  from  the  baffled  fever, 

And  shrunken  in  each  limb, 
The  swamps  of  Alabama 

Had  done  their  work  on  him. 
But  spite  of  that  and  fasting, 

And  hours  of  sleepless  care, 
The  soul  of  Andrew  Jackson 

Shone  forth  in  glory  there. 


XL 
The  Eve  of  Waterloo 

This  is  a  part  of  one  of  Byron's  finest  poems, 
"  Childe  Harold."  It  relates  the  events  of  the  night 
before  the  battle  of  Quatre  Bras,  which  was  fought 
near  Brussels,  the  capital  of  Belgium,  on  June  i6,  1815, 
and  was  the  preliminary  of  the  great  battle  of  Waterloo, 
iought  two  days  later. 

Three  nights  before  the  battle  of  Waterloo  the 
English  Duchess  of  Richmond  gave  a  ball  in  Brussels, 
and  invited  many  of  the  officers  of  the  allied  English 
and  Prussian  armies,  which  were  at  war  with  the 
French.  The  Duke  of  Wellington,  commander-in- 
chief  of  the  English  army,  was  said  to  have  been  one 
of  the  guests.  While  the  ball  was  at  its  height  a 
messenger  brought  word  to  Wellington  that  the 
French  under  Napoleon  were  advancing  towards  the 
city.  He  did  not  wish  to  alarm  the  people,  and  so 
kept  the  information  secret,  but  he  sent  the  officers 
one  by  one  to  their  regiments,  and  finally  left  for  the 
field  himself. 

In  the  poem,  however,  the  dancers  at  the  ball  heard 
a  distant  booming.  At  first  they  paid  little  heed  to  it, 
and  went  on  with  the  dancing  ;  but  presently  the  sound 
grew  louder  and  clearer,  and  they  recognized  it  as  the 
roar   of   cannon.     The   first  to  hear  it  was  Frederick 


214  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

William,  Duke  of  Brunswick,  whose  father  had  been 
killed  in  battle.  He  left  for  the  front  at  once,  and  was 
killed  the  next  day,  June  i6th,  in  the  battle  of  Quatre 
Bras. 

The  officers  said  farewell  to  the  ladies,  and  hurried 
from  the  ball  to  mount  and  ride  against  the  French ; 
while  the  frightened  citizens  crowded  the  streets,  fear- 
ing that  Napoleon  was  about  to  enter  Brussels. 

Waterloo  was  a  great  victory  for  the  English  and 
Prussian  armies.  It  was  the  real  end  of  Napoleon's 
all-conquering  career,  and  led  to  his  capture  and  ban- 
ishment to  the  island  of  St.  Helena. 


THE  EVE  OF  WATERLOO 
By  George  Gordon  Noel,  Lord  Byron 

There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 

Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry,  and  bright 

The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men. 

A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily  ;  and  when 
Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 

Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell ;  * 

But  hush  I  hark  !  a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising 
knell ! 

Did  ye  not  hear  it  ? — No;  'twas  but  the  wind, 
Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street ; 

On  with  the  dance  !  let  joy  be  unconfined  ; 

No  sleep  till  morn,  when  youth  and  pleasure  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet. 


THE  EVE  OF  WATERLOO  215 

But  hark  ! — that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 

As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat  j 
And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before ; 
Arm  !  arm  !  it  is — it  is — the  cannon's  opening  roar ! 

Within  a  windowed  niche  of  that  high  hall 

Sate  Brunswick's  fated  chieftain ;  he  did  hear 
That  sound  the  first  amidst  the  festival, 

And  caught  its  tone  with  death's  prophetic  ear ; 

And  when  they  smiled  because  he  deemed  it  near, 
His  heart  more  truly  knew  that  peal  too  well 

Which  stretched  his  father  on  a  bloody  bier, 
And  roused  the  vengeance  blood  alone  could  quell  ; 
He  rushed  into  the  field,  and,  foremost  fighting,  fell. 

Ah  !  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 

And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress, 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which,  but  an  hour  ago, 

Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness. 

And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs 

Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated  ;  who  would  guess 
If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes, 
Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful  morn  could  rise  ! 

And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste ;  the  steed, 

The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 

And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war ; 

And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal  afar; 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 

Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star; 
While  thronged  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb. 
Or  whispering,  with  white  lips — "  The  foe  !  they  come  ! 
they  come  !  " 


XLI 

Marco  Bozzaris 

At  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  Greece, 
which  had  once  been  one  of  the  greatest  countries  in 
the  world,  was  subject  to  the  rule  of  her  powerful 
neighbor,  Turkey.  But  in  182 1  the  fire  of  patriotism 
was  rekindled,  and  the  Greeks  began  a  war  of  inde- 
pendence. One  of  the  most  heroic  of  the  Greek  leaders 
was  Marco  Bozzaris.  He  was  in  command  of  a  small 
band  of  his  countrymen,  and  planned  to  surprise  a 
much  larger  Turkish  force  after  nightfall.  In  this 
poem,  written  by  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  an  American 
author,  the  story  of  the  attack  is  told. 

The  Turkish  commander  and  his  men  were  sleeping 
in  their  camps,  dreaming  of  victory  over  the  Greeks, 
while  at  the  same  hour  of  midnight  Marco  Bozzaris 
was  making  ready  his  band  of  Suliotes,  or  men  whose 
homes  were  near  the  Suli  mountains  and  river  in  the 
northwestern  part  of  Greece.  The  Turkish  camp  was 
not  far  distant  from  Missilonghi,  which  is  near  the  en- 
trance to  the  Gulf  of  Corinth,  near  the  head  of  which 
gulf  the  earlier  Greeks,  in  479  B.  C,  had  defeated  a 
great  invading  army  of  Persians  at  the  battle  of 
Plataea. 

Bozzaris  attacked  the  Turks,  and  small  though  his 
band  was,  they  took  the  enemy  so  completely  by  sur- 


MARCO  BOZZARIS  217 

prise  that  they  won  a  very  decisive  victory.  But  the 
gallant  leader  himself  was  killed.  The  poem  tells  how 
he  won  glory,  and  how  death  is  welcomed  by  the  vic- 
torious warrior,  as  was  the  cry  of  land  to  Columbus  of 
Genoa  when  his  lookout  caught  the  fragrance  of  the 
palms  and  groves  of  Hayti,  mistaking  them  for  India. 
Pilgrims  from  foreign  lands  shall  seek  the  home  of 
Bozzaris  to  hear  again  the  story  of  his  victory  and  of 
his  country's  independence. 

His  cause  was  successful,  and  six  years  after  this 
battle  near  Missilonghi  Turkey  was  forced  to  grant 
Greece  her  freedom,  and  that  country,  which  had  been 
in  subjection  for  almost  four  centuries,  became  an  in- 
dependent nation.  It  was  in  this  war  that  the  poet 
Byron  and  other  Englishmen  who  loved  the  history  of 
ancient  Greece  and  the  cause  of  liberty  fought  by  the 
side  of  Marco  Bozzaris. 


MARCO  BOZZARIS 
By  Fitz-Gree7ie  Halleck 

At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent, 

The  Turk  was  dreaming  of  the  hour 
When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent, 

Should  tremble  at  his  power  ; 
In  dreams,  through  camp  and  court  he  bore 
The  trophies  of  a  conqueror  ; 

In  dreams,  his  song  of  triumph  heard  ; 
Then  wore  his  monarch's  signet-ring ; 
Then  press'd  that  monarch's  throne — a  king  : 
As  wild  his  thoughts,  and  gay  of  wing. 

As  Eden's  garden  bird. 


2iS  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

At  midnight,  in  tlie  forest  shades, 

Bozzaris  ranged  his  Suliote  band, 
True  as  the  steel  of  their  tried  blades, 

Heroes  in  heart  and  hand. 
There  had  the  Persian's  thousands  stood, 
There  had  the  glad  earth  drunk  their  blood, 

On  old  Platgea's  day  ; 
And  now  there  breathed  that  haunted  air, 
The  sons  of  sires  who  conquer'd  there, 
With  arm  to  strike,  and  soul  to  dare, 

As  quick,  as  far,  as  they. 


An  hour  pass'd  on  :  the  Turk  awoke : 

That  bright  dream  was  his  last. 
He  woke  to  hear  his  sentries  shriek, 
"  To  arms  !  they  come  !  the  Greek  !  the  Greek  !  " 
He  woke,  to  die  'midst  flame  and  smoke, 
And  shout,  and  groan,  and  sabre-stroke. 

And  death-shots  falling  thick  and  fast 
As  lightnings  from  the  mountain  cloud. 
And  heard,  with  voice  as  trumpet  loud, 

Bozzaris  cheer  his  band  : 
"  Strike  ! — till  the  last  arm'd  foe  expires; 
Strike  ! — for  your  altars  and  your  fires  ; 
Strike  ! — for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires ; 

God,  and  your  native  land  !  " 

They  fought  like  brave  men,  long  and  well ; 

They  piled  that  ground  with  Moslem  slain ; 
They  conquer'd  ; — but  Bozzaris  fell, 

Bleeding  at  every  vein. 
His  few  surviving  comrades  saw 
His  smile  when  rang  their  loud  hurrah, 


MARCO  BOZZARIS  219 

And  the  red  field  was  won ; 
Then  saw  in  death  his  eyelids  close, 
Calmly  as  to  a  night's  repose, — 

Like  flowers  at  set  of  sun. 


Come  to  the  bridal  chamber,  Death, 

Come  to  the  mother's,  when  she  feels. 
For  the  first  time,  her  first-born's  breath  ; 

Come,  when  the  blessed  seals 
That  close  the  pestilence  are  broke, 
And  crowded  cities  wail  its  stroke : 
Come  in  consumption's  ghastly  form. 
The  earthquake  shock,  the  ocean  storm ; 
Come  when  the  heart  beats  high  and  warm 

With  banquet  song  and  dance  and  wine ; 
And  thou  art  terrible  : — the  tear. 
The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier. 
And  all  we  know,  or  dream,  or  fear, 

Of  agony,  are  thine. 


But  to  the  hero,  when  his  sword 

Has  won  the  battle  for  the  free, 
Thy  voice  sounds  like  a  prophet's  word, 
And  in  its  hollow  tones  are  heard 

The  thanks  of  millions  yet  to  be. 
Come  when  his  task  of  fame  is  wrought ; 
Come,  with  her  laurel-leaf,  blood-bought; 

Come  in  her  crowning  hour, — and  then 
Thy  sunken  eye's  unearthly  light 
To  him  is  welcome  as  the  sight 

Of  sky  and  stars  to  prison'd  men ; 
Thy  grasp  is  welcome  as  the  hand 
Of  brother  in  a  foreign  land  ; 


220  HISTORIC  FOEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Thy  summons  welcome  as  the  cry 
That  told  the  Indian  isles  were  nigh 

To  the  world-seeking  Genoese, 
When  the  land-wind,  from  woods  of  palm, 
And  orange  groves,  and  fields  of  balm, 

Blew  o'er  the  Haytien  seas. 

Bozzaris  !  with  the  storied  brave 

Greece  nurtured  in  her  glory's  time, 
Rest  thee :  there  is  no  prouder  grave, 

Even  in  her  own  proud  clime. 
She  wore  no  funeral  weeds  for  thee, 

Nor  bade  the  dark  hearse  wave  its  plume, 
Like  torn  branch  from  death's  leafless  tree, 
In  sorrow's  pomp  and  pageantry, 

The  heartless  luxury  of  the  tomb ; 
But  she  remembers  thee  as  one 

Long  loved,  and  for  a  season  gone; 
For  thee  her  poet's  lyre  is  wreathed. 
Her  marble  wrought,  her  music  breathed ; 
For  thee  she  rings  the  birthday  bells ; 
Of  thee  her  babes'  first  lisping  tells ; 
For  thine  her  evening  prayer  is  said, 
At  palace  couch  and  cottage  bed  : 
Her  soldier,  closing  with  the  foe, 
Gives  for  thy  sake  a  deadlier  blow ; 
His  plighted  maiden,  when  she  fears 
For  him,  the  joy  of  her  young  years, 
Thinks  of  thy  fate,  and  checks  her  tears ; 

And  she,  the  mother  of  thy  boys, 
Though  in  her  eye  and  faded  cheek 
Is  read  the  grief  she  will  not  speak, 

The  memory  of  her  buried  joys, — 
And  even  she  who  gave  thee  birth 
Will,  by  their  pilgrim-circled  hearth, 


MARCO  BOZZARIS 

Talk  of  thy  doom  without  a  sigh  ; 
For  thou  art  Freedom's  now,  and  Fame's, 
One  of  the  few,  th'  immortal  names 

That  were  not  born  to  die. 


221 


XLII 
Ye  Mariners  of  England 

England  has  always  been  called  "  Mistress  of  the 
Seas,"  a  title  well  deserved  because  of  her  great  sailors. 
In  times  of  war  her  safety  is  usually  entrusted  to  the 
fleets  that  guard  the  North  Sea,  the  Channel,  and  the 
Irish  coasts.  The  great  strength  of  the  English  navy 
has  always  served  to  prevent  enemies  from  landing  on 
her  shores,  and  it  was  this  strength  that  prevented  Na- 
poleon from  invading  the  British  Isles  at  the  time  when 
he  had  overcome  every  other  nation  in  Europe. 

This  poem  of  Thomas  Campbell  is  a  call  to  the 
English  sailors  to  prove  themselves  worthy  of  their 
great  sea-fighters  of  the  past.  He  names  Admiral 
Blake,  who  fought  and  defeated  the  Dutch  and  the 
Spanish  navies  in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  Lord 
Nelson,  the  great  admiral  of  Napoleon's  time.  Nelson 
defeated  Napoleon's  navy  at  the  battle  of  the  Nile  and 
the  battle  of  Trafalgar.  The  latter  battle  was  fought 
in  1805  against  the  French  and  Spanish  fleets  combined, 
and  made  England  supreme  on  the  sea.  At  the  be- 
ginning of  the  engagement  Nelson  flew  the  signal 
"  England  expects  every  man  to  do  his  duty."  He 
himself  was  mortally  wounded. 

In  the  last  stanza  Campbell  speaks  of  "  the  meteor 
flag  of  England,"  using  that  simile  because  of  the  ex- 
ceedingly brilliant  red  of  the  English  ensign. 


YE  MARINERS  OF  ENGLAND  223 

YE  MARINERS  OF  ENGLAND 
By  Thomas  Campbell 

Ye  mariners  of  England, 

That  guard  our  native  seas, 
Whose  flag  has  braved,  a  thousand  years, 

The  battle  and  the  breeze. 
Your  glorious  standard  launch  again, 

To  match  another  foe  ! 
And  sweep  through  the  deep 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow  — 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  spirits  of  your  fathers 

Shall  start  from  every  wave  ! 
For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 

And  ocean  was  their  grave. 
Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell 

Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 
As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow  — 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long. 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow, 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks, 

No  towers  along  the  steep  ; 
Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain-wave, 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 
With  thunders  from  her  native  oak 

She  quells  the  floods  below. 
As  they  roar  on  the  shore 

When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow 

When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long. 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 


224  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 

Shall  yet  terrific  burn, 
Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart, 

And  the  star  of  peace  return. 
Then,  then,  ye  ocean-warriors  ! 

Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 
To  the  fame  of  your  name, 

When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow  — 
When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more, 

And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 


XLIII 

Old  Ironsides 

The  frigate  Constihition,  which  had  figured  val- 
iantly in  the  history  of  the  United  States  navy,  and 
had  won  the  famous  sea-fight  with  the  English  ship 
Gnerriere  in  the  War  of  1812,  was  popularly  called 
Old  Ironsides,  and  had  won  a  warm  place  in  the  hearts 
of  the  American  people.  On  September  14,  1830,  the 
Boston  Daily  Advertiser  announced  that  the  Secretary 
of  the  Navy  had  recommended  that  the  Constitution  be 
broken  up,  as  no  longer  fit  for  service.  As  soon  as  he 
heard  this  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  wrote  his  poem  Old 
Ironsides,  which  appeared  two  days  later.  It  immedi- 
ately became  a  battle-cry  ;  was  repeated  all  through  the 
country  ;  and  caused  such  a  wave  of  feeling  for  the 
time-scarred  frigate  that  the  plan  of  dismantling  her 
was  given  up,  and  instead  she  was  rebuilt,  and  given 
an  honored  place  among  the  veterans  of  the  country's 
navy. 


OLD  IRONSIDES 
By  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 

Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down  ! 

Long  has  it  waved  on  high, 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky  j 


226  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 
And  burst  the  cannon's  roar  ; — 

The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Sliall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more  ! 

Her  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 

Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe. 
When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood 

And  waves  were  white  below, 
No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 

Or  know  the  conquered  knee  ; — 
The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 

The  eagle  of  the  sea  ! 

Oh,  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave  ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave ; 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag. 

Set  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  God  of  storms, — 

The  lightning  and  the  gale  f 


^H| 

»      1 

1 

■1 

} 


The  Constitution  and  the  Guerriere 


XLIV 

America 

Samuel  Francis  Smith,  a  clergyman  of  Boston, 
was  the  author  of  "America,"  the  song  which  is 
usually  regarded  as  the  national  anthem  of  the  United 
States.  He  himself  said  of  it,  "  The  song  was  written 
at  Andover  during  my  student  life  there,  I  think  in  the 
winter  of  1831-32.  It  was  first  used  publicly  at  a  Sun- 
day-school celebration  on  July  4th,  in  the  Park  Street 
Church,  Boston,  I  had  in  my  possession  a  quantity  of 
German  song-books,  from  which  I  was  selecting  such 
music  as  pleased  me,  and  finding  'God  Save  the 
King,'  I  proceeded  to  give  it  the  ring  of  American 
patriotism."  Both  the  English  anthem  "God  Save 
the  King,"  and  the  American  "  My  Country,  'tis  of 
Thee,"  owe  the  air  to  which  they  are  sung  to  Germany. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  who  was  a  classmate  at 
Harvard  of  the  author  of  "  America,"  referred  to  him 
aptly  in  one  of  the  poems  he  wrote  for  a  class  reunion. 
Said  Holmes : 


"  And  there's  a  nice  youngster  of  excellent  pith  ; 
Fate  tried  to  conceal  him  by  naming  him  Smith  ! 

But  he  chanted  a  song  for  the  brave  and  the  free 

Just  read  on  his  medal,  '  My  Country,  of  thee.'  " 


228  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

AMERICA 
By  Samuel  Francis  Smith 

My  country,  'tis  of  thee. 
Sweet  land  of  Liberty, 

Of  thee  I  sing  ; 
Land  where  my  fathers  died, 
Land  of  the  pilgrim's  pride, 
From  every  mountain  side 

Let  Freedom  ring. 

My  native  country,  thee, 
Land  of  the  noble  free, 

Thy  name  I  love; 
I  love  thy  rocks  and  rills, 
Thy  woods  and  templed  hills, 
My  heart  with  rapture  thrills 

Like  that  above. 

Let  music  swell  the  breeze, 
And  ring  from  all  the  trees 

Sweet  Freedom's  song ; 
Let  mortal  tongues  awake ; 
Let  all  that  breathe  partake ; 
Let  rocks  their  silence  break, 

The  sound  prolong. 

Our  fathers'  God,  to  Thee, 
Author  of  Liberty, 

To  Thee  we  sing ; 
Long  may  our  land  be  bright 
With  Freedom's  holy  light ; 
Protect  us  by  Thy  might, 

Great  God,  our  King. 


AMERICA  229 

Beneath  Heaven's  gracious  will 
The  star  of  progress  still 

Our  course  doth  sway ; 
In  unity  sublime 
To  broader  heights  we  climb, 
Triumphant  over  Time, 

God  speeds  our  way  ! 

Grand  birthright  of  our  sires, 
Our  altars  and  our  fires 

Keep  we  still  pure  ! 
Our  starry  flag  unfurled, 
The  hope  of  all  the  world. 
In  Peace  and  Light  impearled, 

God  hold  secure  I 


XLV 

Monterey 

The  annexation  of  Texas  by  the  United  States  in 
1845  was  regarded  by  Mexico  as  an  act  of  war.  That 
country  immediately  collected  an  army  along  the  Rio 
Grande  River,  and  General  Zachary  Taylor  was  sent 
into  Texas  with  an  army  of  occupation.  Taylor  found 
the  Mexicans  stationed  at  Matamoras.  He  threw  up  a 
line  of  entrenchments  and  built  a  fort  opposite  the 
Mexican  batteries.  While  he  was  engaged  elsewhere 
the  Mexicans  attacked  this  fort,  and  as  soon  as  the 
news  reached  the  American  general  he  started  back  to 
relieve  the  small  force  at  the  fort.  On  his  march  he 
came  upon  the  Mexican  army,  with  six  thousand  men, 
drawn  up  before  his  army  of  twenty-one  hundred  sol- 
diers, at  Palo  Alto.  In  spite  of  the  difference  in  num- 
bers Taylor  attacked  the  enemy  on  May  8,  1846,  and 
drove  them  back  by  the  skilful  firing  of  his  artillery, 
and  the  repeated  charges  of  his  infantry. 

The  Mexican  troops  retreated  to  Resaca  de  la  Palma. 
Taylor  followed,  attacked  them  again  on  the  next  day, 
routed  them,  and  marched  to  the  relief  of  the  men  in 
the  fort. 

The  United  States  government  now  sent  large  rein- 
forcements into  Texas,  and  by  the  end  of  the  summer 
General  Taylor  had  a  well-equipped  army  in  the  field. 


MONTEREY  231 

The  Mexican  General  Arista  had  brought  ten  thousand 
troops  into  the  city  of  Monterey,  which  was  supposed 
to  be  impregnable.  Zachary  Taylor  marched  on  the 
city,  and  reached  it  September  19th.  He  found  Mon- 
terey situated  in  a  valley  of  the  Sierra  Madre  Moun- 
tains, protected  by  the  San  Juan  River  and  by  a  citadel 
whose  guns  commanded  all  the  roads  leading  to  the 
city. 

The  American  army  was  deployed  on  all  sides  of  the 
city,  and  began  its  attack  on  September  21st.  For 
three  days  desperate  fighting  followed.  The  troops 
were  cut  to  pieces  by  the  cannon  on  the  citadel,  out- 
lying heights  were  captured,  only  to  be  lost  again 
when  the  Americans  found  they  had  no  shelter  from 
the  Mexicans  in  the  city.  But  finally  the  Americans 
gained  a  footing  within  the  walls  of  Monterey.  They 
had  to  fight  across  the  barricades  in  the  streets  and 
through  the  houses  and  gardens.  Gradually  the 
Mexicans  were  dislodged  and  driven  back  and  back, 
until  on  the  evening  of  September  23d,  Taylor's  army 
succeeded  in  planting  mortars  in  such  a  position  that 
they  could  drop  shells  into  any  part  of  the  city,  and  no 
shelter  was  left  the  defenders.  Early  in  the  morping 
of  the  24th  the  Mexican  general  surrendered  Monterey, 
having  made  terms  of  peace  by  which  his  army  was 
allowed  to  evacuate  the  city  with  all  the  honors  of 
war.  The  capture  of  Monterey  cost  the  Americans 
five  hundred  men  in  killed  and  wounded,  and  the 
Mexicans  fully  twice  as  many. 

The  Mexican  war  finally  ended  in  victory  for  the 
United  States  in  February,  1848,  after  General  Taylor 


232  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

had  won  the  great  victory  of  Buena  Vista,  and  General 
Winfield  Scott  had  carried  the  formidable  fortress  of 
Chapultepec  and  entered  the  City  of  Mexico,  the  capital 
of  that  country. 


MONTEREY 
By  Charles  Fenno  Hoffman 

We  were  not  many — we  who  stood 

Before  the  iron  sleet  that  day ; 
Yet  many  a  gallant  spirit  would 
Give  half  his  years  if  but  he  could 

Have  with  us  been  at  Monterey. 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  shot  it  hailed 

In  deadly  drifts  of  fiery  spray, 
Yet  not  a  single  soldier  quailed 
When  wounded  comrades  round  them  wailed 

Their  dying  shout  at  Monterey. 

And  on — still  on  our  column  kept, 

Through  walls  of  flame,  its  withering  way  ; 
Where  fell  the  dead,  the  living  stept, 
Still  charging  on  the  guns  which  swept 
The  slippery  streets  of  Monterey. 

The  foe  himself  recoiled  aghast. 

When,  striking  where  he  strongest  lay. 
We  swooped  his  flanking  batteries  past. 
And,  braving  full  their  murderous  blast, 
Stormed  home  the  towers  of  Monterey. 


MONTEREY  2^,^ 

Our  banners  on  those  turrets  wave, 

And  there  our  evening  bugles  play ; 
AVhere  orange-boughs  above  their  grave 
Keep  green  the  memory  of  the  brave 

Who  fought  and  fell  at  Monterey, 

We  are  not  many — we  who  pressed 

Beside  the  brave  who  fell  that  day; 
But  who  of  us  has  not  confessed 
He'd  rather  share  their  warrior  rest 

Than  not  have  been  at  Monterey  ? 


XLVI 

The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade 

This  famous  charge  occurred  during  the  Crimean 
War,  which  was  fought  between  the  allied  armies  of 
England,  France,  Sardinia,  and  Turkey  on  the  one 
side,  and  Russia  on  the  other.  The  allied  armies  had 
invaded  that  part  of  southern  Russia  called  the  Crimea 
during  the  autumn  of  1854,  and  were  attempting  to 
capture  the  very  strongly  fortified  town  and  arsenal  of 
Sevastopol.  By  the  end  of  October,  however,  a  very 
large  Russian  army  was  in  the  field,  and  the  Russian 
general.  Prince  Menshikoff,  determined  to  attack  the 
allied  forces.  On  October  25th,  he  opened  fire  on  the 
rear  of  the  British  lines  at  Balaklava.  This  began  a 
series  of  engagements,  in  which  Sir  Colin  Campbell, 
with  the  93d  foot  regiment,  received  and  drove  back  a 
tremendous  onslaught  of  Russian  cavalry.  At  the  same 
time  General  Scarlett,  with  the  English  Heavy  Cavalry 
Brigade,  completed  Sir  Colin's  advantage  by  routing 
another  part  of  the  Russian  army. 

While  this  fighting  was  in  progress  a  message  was 
sent  to  Lord  Cardigan,  who  commanded  the  English 
Light  Brigade  of  Cavalry,  to  attack.  Either  through  a 
misunderstanding  of  the  message,  or  a  blunder,  he  gave 
the   word  to  try  to  take  a  Russian  battery  that  was 


H 

n 


> 


O 


r 


THE  CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE    235 

stationed  at  the  far  end  of  a  long,  narrow  valley.  This 
meant  that  the  Light  Brigade  would  have  to  run  the 
gauntlet  of  two  lines  of  infantry  and  artillery,  as  well 
as  meet  the  full  fire  of  the  battery  in  their  face. 

The  Light  Brigade  charged,  although  it  was  seen 
that  the  order  was  foolhardy  in  the  extreme.  Six 
hundred  and  seventy-three  men  went  into  action,  but 
only  one  hundred  and  ninety-five  returned  unhurt. 

The  charge,  although  it  made  the  batUe  of  Balaklava 
famous,  had  little  to  do  with  the  victory  won  by  the 
English  army.  As  the  French  said  of  it,  "  It  was  mag- 
nificent, but  it  was  not  warfare." 

The  report  of  the  charge  made  a  great  sensation  in 
England,  and  Tennyson,  the  Poet  Laureate,  wrote  this 
poem  of  it.  It  is  a  fine  war-chant,  and  the  thunderous 
echo  of  the  rhymes  give  it  a  charging  effect  like  the 
actual  galloping  beats  of  the  Light  Brigade. 


THE  CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE 
By  Alfred^  Lord  Tennyson 

Half  a  league,  half  a  league, 
Haifa  league  onward, 
All  in  the  valley  of  death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
Forward,  the  Li^ht  Brigade  / 
Charge  for  the  guns,  he  said. 
Into  the  valley  of  death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


236  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Forward,  the  Light  Brigade  f 
Was  there  a  man  dismay'd  ? 
Not  though  the  soldiers  knew 

Some  one  had  blundered. 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die. 
Into  the  valley  of  death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them 

Volley'd  and  thunder'd ; 
Storm'd  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well. 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  Hell 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


Flash'd  all  their  sabres  bare, 
Flash'd  as  they  turn'd  in  air. 
Sabering  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wonder'd  : 
Plunged  in  the  battery-smoke. 
Right  through  the  line  they  broke ; 
Cossack  and  Russian 
Reel'd  from  the  sabre-stroke 

Shatter'd  and  sunder'd. 
Then  they  rode  back,  but  not. 

Not  the  six  hundred. 


THE  CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE     237 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them 
Cannon  behind  them 

Volley'd  and  thunder'd  ; 
Storm'd  at  with  shot  and  shell. 
While  horse  and  hero  fell, 
They  that  had  fought  so  well 
Came  through  the  jaws  of  Death 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  Hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them. 

Left  of  six  hundred. 

When  can  their  glory  fade  ? 
O,  the  wild  charge  they  made  • 

All  the  world  wondered. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made  ! 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  six  hundred ! 


XLVII 

The  Relief  of  Lucknow 

A  GREAT  revolt  of  the  native  soldiers  in  India  against 
their  English  rulers  occurred  in  1857,  and  resulted  in  a 
wide-spread  mutiny.  The  British  East  India  Company, 
which  then  owned  the  greater  part  of  India,  had  trained 
the  Bengal  natives  to  be  soldiers,  giving  them  English- 
men as  officers.  These  native,  or  sepoy  troops,  as  they 
were  called,  proved  able  fighting  men,  but  in  time  the 
sepoys  so  largely  outnumbered  the  English  soldiers 
that  they  began  to  resist  the  orders  of  their  officers. 
As  soon  as  they  found  how  powerful  they  were  in  num- 
bers, they  planned  to  overthrow  the  foreign  rule. 

The  English  had  ordered  the  sepoys  to  use  greased 
cartridges  in  their  rifles,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  a  na- 
tive of  Bengal  would  lose  caste  if  he  were  to  touch  the 
fat  of  cows  or  pigs,  and  he  would  have  to  bite  the 
greased  cartridge  to  use  it.  Many  of  the  soldiers  in 
the  barracks  at  Meerut,  a  military  station  near  Delhi, 
refused  to  use  these  cartridges,  and  as  a  result  were 
marched  to  prison.  The  next  day,  May  10,  1857,  the 
native  cavalry  in  Meerut  armed,  galloped  to  the  prison, 
and  released  their  comrades.  Other  regiments  muti- 
nied against  their  officers,  and  soon  a  large  force  of 
sepoys  advanced  to  capture  the  important  city  of 
Delhi.     The  native  soldiers  there  likewise  turned  on 


THE  RELIEF  OF  LUCKNOW  239 

their  English  commanders,  and  Delhi  became  the 
centre  of  a  great  revolt. 

In  the  meantime  a  mutiny  had  also  broken  out  at 
Lucknovv,  in  northern  India,  the  capital  of  the  province 
of  Oudh.  The  sepoys  deserted  the  English,  and  the 
British  officers,  together  with  all  the  English  men, 
women,  and  children  there,  were  forced  to  take  refuge 
in  the  residency,  or  fort  of  Lucknow.  Here  a  small 
number  of  fighting  men  held  at  bay  a  very  large  num- 
ber of  sepoy  troops  and  a  great  rabble  of  natives. 
Food  grew  scarce,  and  fever,  smallpox,  and  cholera 
spread  among  the  little  garrison.  Week  after  week 
went  by  without  succor,  and  the  sepoys  had  almost 
undermined  the  fort,  when,  on  September  25th,  nearly 
three  months  after  the  siege  had  begun,  a  rescue  party 
headed  by  General  Havelock  arrived  and  fought  its 
way  to  the  stockade.  These  reinforcements  enabled 
the  English  to  hold  out  until  a  much  larger  army  un- 
der Sir  Colin  Campbell  defeated  the  sepoys  a  month 
later  and  raised  the  siege. 

For  the  period  of  almost  three  months  before  the  ar- 
rival of  Havelock  the  people  in  the  fort  at  Lucknow 
had  been  the  targets  of  a  practically  unceasing  fire 
from  heavy  guns  and  muskets  only  fifty  yards  distant. 
The  siege  was  one  of  the  bravest  and  most  remarkable 
in  history. 

The  poem  of  its  relief  tells  how  a  woman  in  the  fort 
caught  the  first  notes  of  the  Scotch  bagpipes  playing 
"  The  Campbells  are  comin',"  that  told  of  Havelock's 
approach. 

As  a  result  of  the  Mutiny  of  1857  the  government  of 


240  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

India  was  transferred  from  the  East  India  Company  to 
the  English  crown. 


THE  RELIEF  OF  LUCKNOW 
By  Robert  Trail  Spence  Lowell 

Oh,  that  last  day  in  Lucknow  fort ! 

We  knew  that  it  was  the  last ; 
That  the  enemy's  mines  crept  surely  in. 

And  the  end  was  coming  fast. 

To  yield  to  that  foe  meant  worse  than  death ; 

And  the  men  and  we  all  worked  on  ; 
It  was  one  day  more  of  smoke  and  roar, 

And  then  it  would  all  be  done. 

There  was  one  of  us,  a  corporal's  wife, 

A  fair,  young,  gentle  thing, 
Wasted  with  fever  in  the  siege, 

And  her  mind  was  wandering. 

She  lay  on  the  ground,  in  her  Scottish  plaid. 
And  I  took  her  head  on  my  knee  ; 

"  When  my  father  comes  hame  frae  the  pleugh,' 
she  said, 
"  Oh  !  then  please  wauken  me." 

She  slept  like  a  child  on  her  father's  floor, 
In  the  flecking  of  woodbine  shade, 

When  the  house-dog  sprawls  by  the  open  door. 
And  the  mother's  wheel  is  stayed. 


THE  RELIEF  OF  LUCKNOW  24) 

It  was  smoke  and  roar  and  powder-stench, 

And  hopeless  waiting  for  death ; 
And  the  soldier's  wife,  like  a  full-tired  child, 

Seemed  scarce  to  draw  her  breath. 

I  sank  to  sleep ;  and  I  had  my  dream 

Of  an  English  village-lane, 
And  wall  and  garden  ;  but  one  wild  scream 

Brought  me  back  to  the  roar  again. 

There  Jessie  Brown  stood  listening 

Till  a  sudden  gladness  broke 
All  over  her  face ;  and  she  caught  my  hand 

And  drew  me  near  and  spoke  : 

"  The  Hielanders  !     Oh  !  dinna  ye  hear 

The  slogan  far  awa  ? 
The  McGregor's  ?     Oh  !  I  ken  it  weel ; 

It's  the  grandest  o'  them  a'  ! 

"  God  bless  thae  bonny  Hielanders  ! 

We're  saved  !     We're  saved  !  "  she  cried  ; 
And  fell  on  her  knees ;  and  thanks  to  God 

Flowed  forth  like  a  full  flood-tide. 

Along  the  battery  line  her  cry 

Had  fallen  among  the  men. 
And  they  started  back  ; — they  were  there  to  die; 

But  was  life  so  near  them,  then  ? 

They  listened  for  life  ;  the  rattling  fire 

Far  off,  and  the  far-off  roar, 
Were  all ;  and  the  colonel  shook  his  head, 

And  they  turned  to  tlicir  guns  once  more. 


242  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Then  Jessie  said,  **  That  slogan's  done  ; 

But  can  ye  hear  them  noo, 
*  The  Campbells  are  comin' '  ?     It's  no  a  dream  \ 

Our  succors  hae  broken  through." 

We  heard  the  roar  and  the  rattle  afar, 
But  the  pipes  we  could  not  hear ; 

So  the  men  plied  their  work  of  hopeless  war, 
And  knew  that  the  end  was  near. 

It  was  not  long  ere  it  made  its  way, 

A  thrilling,  ceaseless  sound  : 
It  was  no  noise  from  the  strife  afar, 

Or  the  sappers  under  ground. 

It  was  the  pipes  of  the  Highlanders  ! 

And  now  they  played  "  Auld  Lang  Synt." 
It  came  to  our  men  like  the  voice  of  God, 

And  they  shouted  along  the  line. 

And  they  wept,  and  shook  one  another's  hands. 
And  the  women  sobbed  in  a  crowd ; 

And  every  one  knelt  down  where  he  stood. 
And  we  all  thanked  God  aloud. 

That  happy  day,  when  we  welcomed  them. 

Our  men  put  Jessie  first ; 
And  the  general  gave  her  his  hand,  and  cheers 

Like  a  storm  from  the  soldiers  burst. 

And  the  pipers'  ribbons  and  tartan  streamed. 
Marching  round  and  round  our  line ; 

And  our  joyful  cheers  were  broken  with  tears, ' 
As  the  pipes  played  "  Auld  Lang  Syne.** 


XLVIII 

Battle-Hymn  of  the  Republic 

Julia  Ward  Howe  was  in  Washington  during  the 
winter  of  i86i,  when  the  question  of  the  abolition  of 
slavery  was  at  fever-heat,  and  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil 
War  at  hand.  She  visited  the  soldiers  encamped  out- 
side the  city,  and  heard  them  singing  *'  John  Brown's 
Body."  The  majesty  of  the  music  to  which  those 
words  were  set  struck  her  at  once,  and  she  determined 
to  write  new  words  that  should  be  a  hymn  of  patriotism. 
The  opening  line  came  to  her  easily,  almost  as  if  by 
inspiration,  and  she  had  completed  the  poem  in  a  very 
short  time.  She  took  it  back  to  Boston  with  her,  and 
gave  it  to  James  T.  Fields,  editor  of  the  Atlantic 
Mojithly.  He  printed  it  on  the  first  page  of  that 
magazine  for  February,  1862,  giving  it  its  present  tide. 

The  poem  attracted  very  little  attention  at  first,  al- 
though it  was  copied  into  several  newspapers.  Then 
one  of  these  newspapers  was  smuggled  into  Libby 
Prison  in  Richmond,  Virginia ;  Chaplain  Charles  C. 
McCabe  read  the  poem  aloud  to  a  few  of  the  prisoners, 
and  soon  all  the  Union  soldiers  there  were  singing  it. 

As  the  Union  prisoners  were  released  they  brought 
the  hymn  back  to  the  North  with  them,  and  it  spread 
in  this  fashion  until  it  had  become  the  most  popular 
anthem  on  the  Northern  side. 


244  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

For  majesty  of  thought  and  beauty  of  word  "  The 
Battle-Hymn  of  the  RepubHc  "  stands  first  among  all 
the  poems  called  forth  by  the  Civil  War,  and  among 
the  first  of  all  poems  inspired  by  patriotism. 


BATTLE-HYMN  OF  THE  REPUBLIC 
By  Julia  Ward  Hoive 

Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord : 

He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath  are 

stored ; 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  His  terrible  swift  sword  : 

His  truth  is  marching  on. 

I  have  seen  Him  in  the  watch-fires  of  a  hundred  circling  camps ; 
They   have  builded  Him  an  altar  in  the  evening's  dews  and 

damps ; 
I  have  read  His  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim  and  flaring  lamps. 

His  day  is  marching  on. 

I  have  read  a  fiery  gospel,  writ  in  burnished  rows  of  steel : 

"As  ye  deal  with  my  contemners,  so  with  you  my  grace  shall 

deal; 
Let  the  hero,  born  of  woman,  crush  the  serpent  with  his  heel, 
Since  God  is  marching  on." 

He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call  retreat ; 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  His  judgment  seat ; 
Oh,  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  Him  !  be  jubilant,  my  feet ! 
Our  God  is  marching  on. 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies,  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me : 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free, 

While  God  is  marching  on. 


XLIX-L 

Dixie's  Land  and  Dixie 

The  original  song  of  "Dixie's  Land"  was  written 
as  a  comic  melody  by  Dan  Emmett,  a  celebrated  negro 
minstrel,  in  1859.  He  is  said  to  have  taken  the  tune 
from  an  old  plantation  melody,  and  to  have  written 
verses  to  suit  his  audiences.  When  the  Civil  War  be- 
gan General  Albert  Pike  wrote  new  words,  calling  on 
the  South  to  arm  and  defend  herself,  and  set  these  to 
the  old  air.  The  South  at  once  claimed  the  song  for 
her  own,  and  it  became  the  best  loved  of  all  the 
Southern  ballads.  Armies  marched  to  it,  and  men 
went  into  battle  singing  it. 

Many  new  verses  have  been  written  to  the  old 
melody,  and  the  air  is  now  as  popular  in  the  North  as 
in  the  South.  The  words  most  generally  associated 
with  it  now  are  those  of  the  song  by  Dan  Emmett,  or 
variations  on  them,  rather  than  the  martial  words  of 
General  Pike. 


DIXIE'S  LAND 

I  wish  I  was  in  de  land  ob  cotton, 
Cimmon  seed  an'  sandy  bottom  — 

In  Dixie's  Land  whar  I  was  born  in, 
Early  on  one  frosty  niornin'. 


246  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Look  away — look  away — Dixie  Land. 

Den  I  wish  I  was  in  Dixie,  Hooray — Hooray  I 

In  Dixie's  Land  we'll  take  our  stand 
To  lib  and  die  in  Dixie. 

Old  Missus  marry  Will  de  weaber, 
William  was  a  gay  deceaber. 

When  he  put  his  arms  around  'er, 
He  look  as  fierce  as  a  forty  pounder. 

His  face  was  sharp  like  butcher's  cleaber, 
But  dat  didn't  seem  to  grieb  her; 

Will  run  away — Missus  took  a  decline,  oh, 
Her  face  was  de  color  ob  bacon  rine — oh. 

How  could  she  act  such  a  foolish  part 
As  marry  a  man  dat  break  her  heart  ? 

Here's  a  health  to  de  next  old  Missus, 
And  all  de  gals  dat  wants  to  kiss  us. 

Now  if  you  want  to  dribe  away  sorrow. 
Come  and  hear  dis  song  to-morrow  ! 

Sugar  in  de  gourd  and  stonny  batter, 
De  whites  grow  fat  an'  de  niggers  fatter  ! 

Den  hoe  it  down  and  scratch  your  grabble, 
To  Dixie's  Land  I  am  bound  to  trabble. 

Look  away — look  away — Dixie  Land. 

Den  I  wish  I  was  in  Dixie.     Hooray  !  Hooray  ! 


DIXIE  247 

DIXIE 

By  Albert  Pike 

Southrons,  hear  your  country  call  you  ! 
Up,  lest  worse  than  death  befall  you  ! 

To  arms  !     To  arms  !     To  arms,  in  Dixie  ! 
Lo  !  all  the  beacon-fires  are  lighted, — 
Let  all  hearts  be  now  united  ! 

To  arms  !     To  arms  !     To  arms,  in  Dixie  ! 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  ! 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
For  Dixie's  land  we  take  our  stand. 
And  live  and  die  for  Dixie  1 

To  arms  !     To  arms  ! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie  ! 

To  arms  !     To  arms  ! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie  ! 

Hear  the  Northern  thunders  mutter  ! 
Northern  flags  in  South  winds  flutter  ! 
Send  them  back  your  fierce  defiance ! 
Stamp  upon  the  accursed  alliance  ! 


Fear  no  danger !     Shun  no  labor  ! 
Lift  up  rifle,  pike,  and  sabre  ! 
Shoulder  pressing  close  to  slioulder, 
Let  the  odds  make  each  heart  bolder  ! 


How  the  South's  great  heart  rejoices 
At  your  cannon's  ringing  voices  ! 
For  faith  betrayed,  and  pledges  broken, 
Wrongs  inflicted,  insults  spoken. 


248  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Strong  as  lions,  swift  as  eagles, 

Back  to  their  kennels  hunt  these  beagles ! 

Cut  the  unequal  bonds  asunder  ! 

Let  them  hence  each  other  plunder  ! 

Swear  upon  your  country's  altar 
Never  to  submit  or  falter, 
Till  the  spoilers  are  defeated, 
Till  the  Lord's  work  is  completed  I 

Halt  not  till  our  Federation 
Secures  among  earth's  powers  its  station  ! 
Then  at  peace,  and  crowned  with  glory, 
Hear  your  children  tell  the  story  ! 

If  the  loved  ones  weep  in  sadness. 
Victory  soon  shall  bring  them  gladness, — 

To  arms  ! 
Exultant  pride  soon  vanish  sorrow; 
Smiles  chase  tears  away  to-morrow. 

To  arms !     To  arms  !     To  arms,  in  Dixie  1 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie  ! 
Hurrah  !     Hurrah  ! 
For  Dixie's  land  we  take  our  stand, 
And  live  or  die  for  Dixie  ! 

To  arms  !     To  arms  ! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie  ! 

To  arms  !     To  arms  ! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie ! 


LI 

My  Maryland 

This  song  shared  popularity  with  "  Dixie  "  among 
the  Southern  soldiers  during  the  Civil  War.  At  the 
outbreak  of  the  war  it  was  not  certain  whether  the 
state  of  Maryland  would  remain  in  the  Union  or  would 
secede.  Feeling  ran  high  in  Baltimore,  and  when  the 
Sixth  Massachusetts  regiment  arrived  in  that  city  on 
April  19,  1 86 1,  on  its  way  to  Washington,  crowds  of 
Confederate  sympathizers  filled  the  streets  and  at- 
tacked the  troops.  The  soldiers  finally  had  to  fire  to 
secure  their  safety,  and  a  number  of  citizens  were 
killed  and  more  wounded. 

This  roused  even  greater  resentment  among  those 
who  wanted  Maryland  to  secede.  The  Federal  govern- 
ment at  once  sent  troops  under  General  Butler  to 
Baltimore  and  Annapolis,  and  the  Union  party,  which 
was  actually  much  stronger  than  the  Confederate  party 
in  the  state,  held  Maryland  to  the  Union. 

The  author  of  "  My  Maryland  "  wrote  the  poem  im- 
mediately on  hearing  of  the  attack  at  Baltimore,  and 
when  it  was  thought  that  Maryland  might  secede.  He 
was  of  course  an  ardent  Confederate  sympathizer. 
Miss  Hattie  Cary  of  Baltimore  set  the  words  to  the 
old   college   air  of  "  Lauriger  Horatius,"  and  it  soon 


250  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

became  almost  as  popular  around  Southern  camp-fires 
as  •'  Dixie." 


MY  MARYLAND 
By  James  Ryder  Randall 

The  despot's  heel  is  on  thy  shore, 

Maryland  ! 
His  torch  is  at  thy  temple  door, 

Maryland  ! 
Avenge  the  patriotic  gore 
That  flecked  the  streets  of  Baltimore 
And  be  the  battle  queen  of  yore, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 

Hark  to  an  exiled  son's  appeal, 

Maryland  ! 
My  mother  State,  to  thee  I  kneel, 

Maryland  ! 
For  life  or  death,  for  woe  or  weal, 
Thy  peerless  chivalry  reveal, 
And  gird  thy  beauteous  limbs  with  steel, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 

Thou  wilt  not  cower  in  the  dust, 

Maryland  ! 
Thy  beaming  sword  shall  never  rust, 

Maryland  ! 
Remember  Carroll's  sacred  trust, 
Remember  Howard's  warlike  thrust, 
And  all  thy  slumberers  with  the  just, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 


MY  MARYLAND  251 

Come  !  'tis  the  red  dawn  of  the  day, 

Maryland  ! 
Come  with  thy  panoplied  array, 

Maryland  ! 
With  Ringgold's  spirit  for  the  fray, 
With  Watson's  blood  at  Monterey, 
With  fearless  Lowe  and  dashing  May, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 


Dear  Mother,  burst  the  tyrant's  chain, 

Maryland  ! 
Virginia  shall  not  call  in  vain, 

Maryland  ! 
She  meets  her  sisters  on  the  plain, 
"5;V  semper  !  "  'tis  the  proud  refrain 
That  baffles  minions  back  amain, 

Maryland  ! 
Arise  in  majesty  again, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 

Come  !  for  thy  shield  is  bright  and  strong, 

Maryland  ! 
Come  !  for  thy  dalliance  does  thee  wrong, 

Maryland  ! 
Come  to  thy  own  heroic  throng 
Stalking  with  Liberty  along, 
And  chant  thy  dauntless  slogan-song, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 

I  see  the  blush  upon  thy  cheek, 

Maryland  ! 
But  thou  wast  ever  bravely  meek, 

Maiyland  ! 


252         HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

But  lo  !  there  surges  forth  a  shriek, 
From  liill  to  liill,  from  creek  to  creek, 
Potomac  calls  to  Chesapeake, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 

Thou  wilt  not  yield  to  Vandal  toll, 

Maryland  ! 
Thou  wilt  not  crook  to  his  control, 

Maryland  ! 
Better  the  fire  upon  thee  roll, 
Better  the  shot,  the  blade,  the  bowl, 
Than  crucifixion  of  the  soul, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 

I  hear  the  distant  thunder-hum, 

Maryland  ! 
The  "  Old  Line's  "  bugle,  fife,  and  drum  ; 

Maryland  ! 
She  is  not  dead,  nor  deaf,  nor  dumb  ; 
Huzza  !  she  spurns  the  Northern  scum  — 
She  breathes  !    She  burns  !    She'll  come  !    She'll 
come  ! 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 


LII 

The  Cumberland 

Early  in  1862  a  war-ship  made  her  appearance  at 
Hampton  Roads,  off  Fortress  Monroe,  in  Virginia, 
which  was  destined  to  change  the  naval  battles  of  the 
future.  The  vessel  was  a  Confederate  ironclad  called 
the  Merriniac.  An  old  ship  had  been  altered  by  hav- 
ing a  wedge-shaped  prow  of  cast-iron  project  about 
two  feet  in  front  of  the  bow,  and  covering  a  wooden 
roof  which  sloped  to  the  water-line  with  two  iron  plates 
of  armor.  A  battery  of  ten  guns  v/as  placed  inside  the 
ironclad.  So  constructed,  it  was  thought  that  the  new 
type  of  war-ship  could  readily  destroy  the  old-fash- 
ioned Union  frigates,  and  herself  escape  without  injury. 

Five  Union  ships,  the  fifty  gun  frigate  Congress,  the 
twenty-four  gun  sloop  Oimberland,  and  the  frigates 
Si.  Lawrence,  Roanoke,  and  Minnesota,  lay  near  New- 
port News  on  March  8,  1862,  when  about  noon  the 
new  ship  Merriniac  suddenly  appeared  from  the  James 
River.  The  three  nearest  frigates,  believing  they  could 
easily  defeat  the  stranger,  immediately  slipped  their 
cables,  but,  as  all  were  of  deep  draft,  shortly  grounded 
in  shallow  water.  The  two  other  Union  ships,  together 
with  the  shore  batteries,  opened  fire  upon  the  strange 
black  vessel  that  looked  like  a  crocodile  or  some  un- 
known sea-monster.    To  their  surprise  the  shot  bounced 


254  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

off  the  sloping  back  of  the  ironclad  like  rubber  balls, 
and  seemed  to  do  no  damage. 

Lieutenant  George  Upham  Morris  was  in  command 
of  the  Cumberland,  and  as  he  saw  the  strange  ship  ad- 
vancing to  attack  him  he  ordered  broadsides  of  shot 
and  shell  poured  at  her.  The  heavy  fire  had  no  effect. 
The  monster  steamed  on,  and  rammed  her  iron  prow 
into  the  wooden  side  of  the  Cumberland.  The  frigate 
sank  in  fifty-five  minutes,  carrying  down  officers  and 
crew,  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  in  all.  Her  flag 
was  still  flying  as  she  sank,  and  her  guns  fired  even 
when  the  water  had  reached  the  gunwales. 

The  Merrimac  then  turned  to  the  Congress,  which 
had  made  for  the  shore,  and  riddled  her  with  shot  until 
she  caught  on  fire,  and  an  exploding  powder-magazine 
destroyed  her.  The  Merrimac  finally  retired  at  night- 
fall to  the  shelter  of  the  Confederate  batteries,  having 
spread  consternation  through  the  Union  fleet. 

Next  morning,  however,  when  the  victorious  Merri- 
mac steamed  out  to  destroy  the  three  remaining  frigates, 
she  found  that  a  tiny  vessel  named  the  Monitor  had  ar- 
rived at  Hampton  Roads  over  night,  and  was  ready  to 
meet  her.  This  Monitor  showed  only  a  thin  edge  of 
surface  above  the  water-line,  and  an  iron  turret  re- 
volved in  sight,  from  which  two  guns  could  be  fired 
in  any  direction.  As  the  Northern  papers  said,  this 
ship  looked  like  a  "  cheese-box  on  a  raft." 

The  Goliath  of  a  Merrimac  advanced  to  meet  the 
David  of  a  Monitor,  and  a  three  hours'  battle  followed. 
Neither  could  force  the  other  to  surrender,  but  finally 
the   larger   ironclad   began  to  leak  and  had  to  with- 


-  .\ 


<k 


THE  CUMBERLAND  255 

draw,  leaving  the  little  Monitor  in  possession  of  the 
Roads. 

This  marked   the   beginning   of    the   change  from 
wooden  ships-of-war  to  ironclads. 


THE  CUMBERLAND 
By  Heniy  Wadsivorth  Longfellow 

At  anchor  in  Hampton  Roads  we  lay, 

On  board  of  the  Cumberland,  sloop-of-war ; 
And  at  times  from  the  fortress  across  the  bay 
The  alarum  of  drums  swept  past, 
Or  a  bugle  blast 
From  the  camp  on  the  shore. 

Then  far  away  to  the  south  uprose 

A  little  feather  of  snow-white  smoke, 
And  we  knew  that  the  iron  ship  of  our  foes 
Was  steadily  steering  its  course 
To  try  the  force 
Of  our  ribs  of  oak. 

Down  upon  us  heavily  runs, 

Silent  and  sullen,  the  floating  fort ; 
Then  comes  a  puff  of  smoke  from  her  guns, 
And  leaps  the  terrible  death, 
With  fiery  breath, 
From  each  open  port. 

We  are  not  idle,  but  send  her  straight 
Defiance  back  in  a  full  broadside  I 
As  hail  rebounds  from  a  roof  of  slate. 
Rebounds  our  heavier  hail 
From  each  iron  scale 
Of  the  monster's  hide. 


256         HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

"Strike  your  flag  !  "  the  rebel  cries, 

In  his  arrogant  old  plantation  strain. 
"  Never  !  "  our  gallant  Morris  replies  ; 
"It  is  better  to  sink  than  to  yield  !  " 
And  the  whole  air  pealed 
With  the  cheers  of  our  men. 

Then,  like  a  kraken  huge  and  black, 

She  crushed  our  ribs  in  her  iron  grasp ! 
Down  went  the  Crimberland  all  a  wrack, 
With  a  sudden  shudder  of  death, 
And  the  cannon's  breath 
For  her  dying  gasp. 

Next  morn,  as  the  sun  rose  over  the  bay, 

Still  floated  our  flag  at  the  mainmast  head. 
Lord,  how  beautiful  was  Thy  day  ! 
Every  waft  of  the  air 
Was  a  whisper  of  prayer, 
Or  a  dirge  for  the  dead. 

Ho  I  brave  hearts  that  went  down  in  the  seas  I 

Ye  are  at  peace  in  the  troubled  stream ; 
Ho  !  brave  land  !  with  hearts  like  these, 
Thy  flag,  that  is  rent  in  twain, 
Shall  be  one  again, 
And  without  a  seam ! 


LlII 

Stonewall  Jackson's  Way 

"  Stonewall  "  was  a  nickname  given  to  Thomas 
J.  Jackson,  a  lieutenant-general  in  the  Confederate 
army,  who  was  one  of  the  ablest  and  bravest  com- 
manders who  took  part  in  the  Civil  War.  Early  in 
the  war  he  was  ordered  to  reinforce  the  army  of  Gen- 
eral Beauregard,  who  was  fighting  at  Manassas.  He 
did  so,  and  in  the  battle  that  followed  the  Union  army 
came  very  near  routing  the  Southern  troops  by  a  des- 
perate charge.  Jackson  and  his  brigade  stood  firm, 
and  General  Lee,  seeing  him,  called  out  to  his  own 
wavering  men,  "  Look  at  Jackson — there  he  stands 
like  a  stone  wall  ;  rally  behind  the  Virginians  I "  The 
other  brigades  obeyed  the  order,  and  eventually  the 
Confederates  carried  the  day.  It  was  in  this  way  that 
Jackson  and  his  men  won  the  nickname  of  "  Stonewall 
Jackson  "  and  the  "  Stonewall  Brigade  "  that  came  to 
be  a  badge  of  honor  in  later  campaigns. 

"Stonewall  Jackson"  was  a  strict  Presbyterian  and 
a  man  of  unusual  religious  feeling.  He  had  graduated 
at  West  Point,  fought  in  the  Mexican  War,  and  then 
taught  in  the  Virginia  Military  Institute  at  Lexington. 
There  he  had  been  called  "The  Blue-Light  Elder"  by 
his  pupils,  who  were  very  fond  of  him,  and  the  name 


258  HISTORIC  POKMS  AND  BALLADS 

was  sometimes  used  by  his  soldiers  after  the  Civil  War 
began. 

The  general  was  a  dashing  leader,  and  his  men 
would  follow  him  anywhere.  He  rose  rapidly  in  rank, 
and  in  a  short  time  had  become  General  Lee's  chief 
mainstay.  Many  a  Confederate  victory  was  due  to  his 
personal  courage  in  leading  his  troops  at  a  decisive 
moment  in  battle,  and  time  and  again  his  "  Stonewall 
Brigade  "  turned  a  seeming  rout  into  victory. 

In  the  spring  of  1863  the  Union  and  Confederate 
armies  prepared  to  renew  the  struggle  that  the  winter 
had  partly  interrupted.  The  Union  General  Hooker 
crossed  the  Rappahannock  River  on  April  28th,  for  the 
purpose  of  attacking  the  Confederates  who  were  near 
Fredericksburg.  The  entire  Union  Army  of  the 
Potomac  had  crossed  the  river  and  bivouacked  at 
Chancellorsville  by  the  night  of  April  30th.  The  Con- 
federate General  Lee  at  once  prepared  to  attack 
Hooker,  and  early  on  May  ist  he  sent  "  Stonewall 
Jackson,"  in  command  of  thirty-three  thousand  men, 
towards  Chancellorsville. 

The  two  armies  made  ready  on  that  day,  some  fight- 
ing occurring,  but  the  real  battle  of  Chancellorsville  did 
not  begin  until  May  2d.  Late  on  that  afternoon  Jack- 
son, who  had  made  a  flank  movement,  burst  from  the 
woods  and  routed  the  Union  right  wing.  At  this  point  i 
General  Pleasanton  hurled  the  Eighth  Pennsylvania 
Cavalry  under  Major  Keenan,  on  the  Confederate 
flank.  Keenan  charged  again  and  again,  losing  most 
of  his  men,  but  giving  the  Union  artillery  time  to  get 
into  position  and  fire.. 


STONEWALL  JACKSON'S  WAY  259 

The  Confederates  were  checked  by  this  firing,  and 
Jackson  and  his  staff  rode  forward  to  look  at  the  field. 
As  he  was  riding  back  to  his  own  lines  the  general  and 
his  companions  were  mistaken  for  Union  horsemen  by 
his  own  soldiers  and  were  fired  at.  Jackson  was  shot, 
and  died  on  May  loth.  The  Confederates  won  the 
fighting  at  Chancellorsville  after  several  days  of  batde, 
but  the  victory  was  largely  offset  by  the  loss  of  one  of 
their  very  greatest  generals. 

The  poem,  "  Stonewall  Jackson's  Way,"  is  said  to 
have  been  written  within  hearing  of  the  battle  of 
Antietam,  September  17,  1862,  and  was  found  in  the 
coat  of  a  dead  soldier  of  the  "Stonewall  Brigade," 
after  one  of  Jackson's  batdes  in  the  Shenandoah  Val- 
ley. It  became  very  popular,  but  its  authorship  was 
unknown  until  almost  twenty-five  years  later. 

STONEWALL  JACKSON'S  WAY 

By  John  Williamson  Palmer 

Come,  stack  arms,  men  !     Pile  on  the  rails, 

Stir  up  the  camp-fire  bright ; 
No  matter  if  the  canteen  fails, 

We'll  make  a  roaring  night. 
Here  Shenandoah  brawls  along, 
There  burly  Blue  Ridge  echoes  strong. 
To  swell  the  brigade's  rousing  song 

Of  "Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

We  see  him  now, — the  old  slouched  hat 

Cocked  o'er  his  eye  askew  ; 
The  shrewd,  dry  smile,  the  speech  so  pat, 

So  calm,  so  blunt,  so  true. 


26o  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

The  "  Blue-Light  Elder  "  knows  'em  well ; 
Says  he,  "  That's  Banks, — he's  fond  of  shell ; 

Lord  save  his  soul  !  we'll  give  him ;  "  well. 

That's  "Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

Silence  !  ground  arms  !  kneel  all !  caps  off  I 
Old  "  Blue  Light's  "  going  to  pray. 

Strangle  the  fool  that  dares  to  scoff ! 
Attention  !  it's  his  way. 

Appealing  from  his  native  sod, 

In  forma  pauperis  to  God, 

"  Lay  bare  Thine  arm  ;  stretch  forth  Thy  rod  ! 
Amen  !  "     That's  "  Stonewall's  way." 

He's  in  the  saddle  now.     Fall  in  ! 

Steady  !  the  whole  brigade  ! 
Hill's  at  the  ford  cut  off;  we'll  win 

His  way  out,  ball  and  blade  ! 
What  matter  if  our  shoes  are  worn  ? 
What  matter  if  our  feet  are  torn  ? 
"  Quick-step  !  we're  with  him  before  morn  !  " 

That's  "  Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

The  sun's  bright  lances  rout  the  mists 

Of  morning,  and,  by  George  ! 
Here's  Longstreet  struggling  in  the  lists, 

Hemmed  in  an  ugly  gorge. 
Pope  and  his  Yankees,  whipped  before, 
"  Bay'nets  and  grape  !  "  hear  Stonewall  roar ; 
"  Charge,  Stuart !     Pay  off  Ashby's  score  !  " 

In  "  Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

Ah  !  Maiden,  wait  and  watch  and  yearn 
For  news  of  Stonewall's  band  ! 

Ah  !  Widow,  read,  with  eyes  that  burn, 
That  ring  upon  thy  hand. 


STONEWALL  JACKSON'S  WAY  2C1 

Ah  !  Wife,  sew  on,  pray  on,  hope  on  ; 
Thy  life  shall  not  be  all  forlorn ; 
The  foe  had  better  ne'er  been  born 
That  gets  in  •'  Stonewall's  way." 


LIV 
Barbara  Frietchie 

Early  in  the  Civil  War,  in  September,  1862,  General 
Robert  E.  Lee  of  the  Confederate  army  succeeded  in 
crossing  the  Potomac  River,  and  planned  to  march  on 
Baltimore  or  Philadelphia.  On  this  march  he  entered 
Frederick  City,  Maryland,  September  13th. 

According  to  Whittier's  poem  there  were  forty 
American  fiags  flying  in  the  town,  but  the  Confederate 
sympathizers  pulled  them  down  as  Lee's  army  entered. 
Then  an  old  woman  named  Barbara  Frietchie  took  one 
of  the  flags  and  fastened  it  to  a  staff  outside  her  attic 
window.  General  "  Stonewall  "  Jackson  saw  the  flag 
as  he  marched  past  with  his  men,  and  gave  the  order 
to  fire.  But  even  as  the  flag  fell  from  the  staff  Barbara 
Frietchie  seized  it.  She  cried  to  them  all,  "  Shoot,  if 
you  must,  this  old  gray  head,  but  spare  your  country's 
flag ! " 

Jackson  recognized  her  courage,  and  was  stirred  by 
it.  He  gave  his  men  the  order  to  march,  and  all  day 
the  flag  flew  from  that  attic  window  as  Lee's  army 
went  through  the  streets  of  Frederick  City. 

The  story  of  Barbara  Frietchie  has  been  accepted  as 
true  by  several  historians,  but  there  is  some  doubt  as 
to  whether  the  facts  were  exactly  similar  to  the  account 
in  the  poem.     Whittier  himself  said  that  he  had  the 


BARBAllA  FRIETCHIE  263 

story  from  trustworthy  sources.  In  a  note  to  the  poem 
he  wrote  :  "  It  is  admitted  by  all  that  Barbara  Frietchie 
was  no  myth,  but  a  worthy  and  highly  esteemed  gentle- 
woman, intensely  loyal  and  a  hater  of  the  Slavery  Re- 
bellion, holding  her  Union  flag  sacred  and  keeping  it 
with  her  Bible  ;  that  when  the  Confederates  halted  be- 
fore her  house,  and  entered  her  dooryard,  she  de- 
nounced them  in  vigorous  language,  shook  her  cane 
in  their  faces,  and  drove  them  out ;  and  when  General 
Burnside's  troops  followed  close  upon  Jackson's,  she 
waved  her  flag  and  cheered  them.  It  is  stated  that 
May  Quantrell,  a  brave  and  loyal  lady  in  another  part 
of  the  city,  did  wave  her  flag  in  sight  of  the  Con- 
federates. It  is  possible  that  there  has  been  a  blend- 
ing of  the  two  incidents." 


BARBARA  FRIETCHIE 
By  John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

Up  from  the  meadows  rich  with  corn, 
Clear  in  the  cool  September  morn, 

The  clustered  spires  of  Frederick  stand 
Green-walled  by  the  hills  of  Maryland. 

Round  about  them  orchards  sweep, 
Apple  and  peach  tree  fruited  deep, 

Fair  as  a  garden  of  the  Ixjrd 

To  the  eyes  of  the  famished  rebel  horde, 

On  that  pleasant  morn  of  the  early  fall 
When  Lee  marched  over  the  mountain  wall,— 


264  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Over  the  mountains,  winding  down, 
Horse  and  foot  into  Frederick  town. 

Forty  flags  with  their  silver  stars, 
Forty  flags  with  their  crimson  bars. 

Flapped  in  the  morning  wind  :  the  sun 
Of  noon  looked  down,  and  saw  not  one. 

Up  rose  old  Barbara  Frietchie  then, 
Bowed  with  her  fourscore  years  and  ten ; 

Bravest  of  all  in  Frederick  town, 

She  took  up  the  flag  the  men  hauled  down ; 

In  her  attic  window  the  staff  she  set, 
To  show  that  one  heart  was  loyal  yet. 

Up  the  street  came  the  rebel  tread, 
Stonewall  Jackson  riding  ahead. 

Under  his  slouched  hat  left  and  right 
He  glanced  ;  the  old  flag  met  his  sight. 

"  Halt !  " — the  dust-brown  ranks  stood  fast. 
"  Fire  !  " — out  blazed  the  rifle-blast. 

It  shivered  the  window,  pane  and  sash  ; 
It  rent  the  banner  with  seam  and  gash. 

Quick,  as  it  fell,  from  the  broken  staff" 
Dame  Barbara  snatched  the  silken  scarf; 

She  leaned  far  out  on  the  window-sill. 
And  shook  it  forth  with  a  royal  will. 

"  Shoot,  if  you  must,  this  old  gray  head. 
But  spare  your  country's  flag,"  she  said. 


BARBARA  FRIETCHIE  265 

A  shade  of  sadness,  a  blush  of  shame, 
Over  the  face  of  the  leader  came ; 

The  nobler  nature  within  him  stirred 
To  life  at  that  woman's  deed  and  word  : 

♦'  Who  touches  a  hair  of  yon  gray  head 
Dies  like  a  dog  !     March  on  !  "  he  said. 

All  day  long  through  Frederick  street 
Sounded  the  tread  of  marching  feet  : 

All  day  long  that  free  flag  tost 
Over  the  heads  of  the  rebel  host. 

Ever  its  torn  folds  rose  and  fell 

On  the  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well ; 

And  through  the  hill-gaps  sunset  light 
Shone  over  it  with  a  warm  good  night. 

Barbara  Frietchie's  work  is  o'er, 

And  the  rebel  rides  on  his  raids  no  more. 

Honor  to  her  !  and  let  a  tear 

Fall,  for  her  sake,  on  "  Stonewall's  "  bier. 

Over  Barbara  Frietchie's  grave, 
Flag  of  freedom  and  union,  wave  ! 

Peace,  and  order,  and  beauty  draw 
Round  thy  symbol  of  light  and  law ; 

And  ever  the  stars  above  look  down 
On  thy  stars  below  in  Frederick  town  I 


LV 

High  Tide  at  Gettysburg 

The  battle  of  Gettysburg,  fought  during  the  three 
days  of  July  first,  second,  and  third,  1863,  marked  the 
turning-point  in  the  American  Civil  War.  The  Con- 
federate armies  were  making  headway  northward,  and 
the  Union  troops,  veteran  though  they  were,  had  been 
outmanoeuvered  time  and  again  during  the  spring  of 
that  year.  In  spite  of  General  Hooker's  efforts,  the 
Confederates  under  General  Robert  E.  Lee  crossed  into 
Pennsylvania,  and  it  looked  as  if  that  state  would 
shortly  be  at  the  mercy  of  the  invading  army.  There 
was  panic  at  the  North.  President  Lincoln  called  out 
100,000  militia,  and  the  Union  General  Hooker  started 
to  try  to  catch  and  check  Lee.  On  June  27th,  how- 
ever, Hooker  was  relieved  of  the  command  at  his  own 
request,  and  General  George  G.  Meade  was  appointed 
in  command  of  the  army. 

The  two  great  armies,  largely  ignorant  of  each 
other's  plans,  drew  near  each  other  during  the  end  of 
June.  Longstreet  and  Hill,  of  the  Confederate  army, 
had  turned  eastward,  and  Meade,  having  brought  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  across  Maryland,  was  headed 
towards  the  enemy  at  right  angles.  Lee  decided  to  col- 
lect his  forces  at  the  Pennsylvania  town  of  Gettysburg, 
and  there  his  advance  guard  happened  to  come  into  con- 
tact with  the  Union  troops  on  the  morning  of  July  first. 


HIGH  TIDE  AT  GETTYSBURG  267 

Gettysburg  lies  in  a  hilly  country,  a  valley  dotted 
with  farms,  protected  by  two  ridges,  Seminary  Ridge 
on  the  west,  and  Cemetery  Ridge  on  the  southeast. 
This  latter  range  begins  in  a  cliff  called  Gulp's  Hill, 
and  at  its  southern  end  towers  a  high  rock  known  as 
Round  Top,  General  Reynolds  of  the  Union  army 
was  the  first  corps  commander  to  reach  Gettysburg, 
and  as  soon  as  he  discovered  that  the  bulk  of  the  Con- 
federate army  was  at  hand  he  decided  to  join  battle 
with  them  and  so  gain  time  for  General  Meade  to  mass 
his  main  army  and  prepare  to  check  the  enemy.  In 
the  first  day's  encounter  the  Confederates  won  the  ad- 
vantage, General  Reynolds  was  killed,  and  the  Union 
lines  were  swept  back  to  the  line  of  Cemetery  Ridge. 

General  Lee  reached  Gettysburg  that  evening,  and 
General  Meade  hurriedly  brought  up  the  scattered 
corps  of  his  great  army.  Lee  decided  to  attack  where 
they  were,  although  he  had  not  chosen  the  field,  and 
in  the  afternoon  of  July  second  the  battle  was  renewed 
and  in  spite  of  the  intense  heat  both  armies  fought  with 
undiminished  fury.  The  Confederates  won  several 
slight  advantages,  but  on  the  whole  the  second  day's 
battle  was  inconclusive,  and  the  Union  forces  still  held 
their  lines  in  unbroken  order. 

Lee  determined  to  renew  his  attack  on  the  third  day, 
and  Meade  planned  to  stay  and  receive  it.  Both 
armies  spent  the  morning  in  preparation.  In  the 
afternoon  Lee  ordered  the  advance,  and  the  Confeder- 
ates charged  across  the  valley  in  a  line  three  miles 
long.  General  George  Pickett,  with  his  Virginians, 
supported    by    the    men    of    Pettigrew,    Wilcox,    and 


268  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Trimble,  led  the  van,  and  bore  the  brunt  of  the  great 
charge.  Five  thousand  men  under  Pickett  dashed 
against  the  entrenched  Union  lines,  and  though  they 
had  to  face  a  withering  tire,  charged  up  to  the  very 
front  of  their  enemy,  and  grappled  with  them.  For  a 
moment  they  gained  a  foothold,  then  the  Union  sol- 
diers, massing  at  this  crucial  point,  flung  them  back, 
and  the  charge  was  ended.  More  than  two  thousand 
men  had  been  killed  or  wounded  in  thirty  minutes. 
Pickett  gave  the  order  to  retreat,  and  as  his  men  fell 
back  the  Union  soldiers  sprang  forward,  and  pursued  a 
short  distance,  taking  many  prisoners  and  battle  ensigns. 

The  Union  army  had  also  repulsed  the  Confederates 
in  other  parts  of  the  field,  and  the  day  ended  in  victory 
for  Meade's  men.  During  the  night  Lee  retreated  in 
good  order. 

The  Confederates  never  penetrated  as  far  north 
again,  and  the  point  that  Pickett  reached  at  the  height 
of  his  charge  is  often  called  the  "  High  Water  Mark 
of  the  Confederacy,"  The  charge,  though  ill-advised, 
was  heroically  carried  out,  and  has  become  famous  as 
one  of  the  bravest  events  in  the  Civil  War. 


HIGH  TIDE  AT  GETTYSBURG 
By  Will  Henry  Thompson 

A  cloud  possessed  the  hollow  field. 

The  gathering  battle's  smoky  shield  : 
Athwart  the  gloom  the  lightning  flashed. 
And  through  the  cloud  some  horsemen  dashed, 

And  from  the  heights  the  thunder  pealed. 


HIGH  TIDE  AT  GETTYSBURG  269 

Then,  at  the  brief  command  of  Lee 
Moved  out  that  matchless  infantry, 

With  Pickett  leading  grandly  down, 

To  rush  against  the  roaring  crown 
Of  those  dread  heights  of  destiny. 

Far  heard  above  the  angry  guns, 
A  cry  across  the  tumult  runs  ; 

The  voice  that  rang  through  Shiloh's  woods 

And  Chickamauga's  solitudes. 
The  fierce  South  cheering  on  her  sons  ! 

Ah,  how  the  withering  tempest  blew 
Against  the  front  of  Peltigrew  ! 

A  Khamsin  wind  that  scorched  and  singed 

Like  that  infernal  flame  that  fringed 
The  British  squares  at  Waterloo  ! 

A  thousand  fell  where  Kemper  led  ; 

A  thousand  died  where  Garnett  bled  : 
In  blinding  flame  and  strangling  smoke 
The  remnant  through  the  batteries  broke 

And  crossed  the  works  with  Armistead. 

"  Once  more  in  Glory's  van  with  me  !  " 
Virginia  cried  lo  Tennessee  : 

"  We  two  together,  come  what  may, 

Shall  stand  upon  these  works  to-day  !  " 
The  reddest  day  in  history. 

Brave  Tennessee  !  In  reckless  way 
Virginia  heard  her  comrades  say: 

"  Close  round  this  rent  and  riddled  rag  !  " 

What  time  she  set  her  battle-flag 
Amid  the  guns  of  Doubleday. 


2/0  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

But  who  shall  break  the  guards  that  wait 

Before  the  awful  face  of  Fate? 

The  tattered  standards  of  the  South 
Were  shrivelled  at  the  cannon's  mouth, 

And  all  her  hopes  were  desolate. 

In  vain  the  Tennesseean  set 

His  breast  against  the  bayonet ; 

In  vain  Virginia  charged  and  raged, 
A  tigress  in  her  wrath  uncaged, 

Till  all  the  hill  was  red  and  wet ! 

Above  the  bayonets,  mixed  and  crossed. 

Men  saw  a  gray,  gigantic  ghost 
Receding  through  the  battle-cloud, 
And  heard  across  the  tempest  loud 

The  death-cry  of  a  nation  lost ! 

The  brave  went  down  !     Without  disgrace 
They  leaped  to  Ruin's  red  embrace; 

They  only  heard  Fame's  thunders  wake, 
And  saw  the  dazzling  sunburst  break 
In  smiles  on  Glory's  bloody  face  ! 

They  fell,  who  lifted  up  a  hand 
And  bade  the  sun  in  heaven  to  stand ; 
They  smote  and  fell,  who  set  the  bars 
Against  the  progress  of  the  stars. 
And  stayed  the  march  of  Motherland. 

They  stood,  who  saw  the  future  come 
On  through  the  fight's  delirium  ; 

They  smote  and  stood,  who  held  the  hope 
Of  nations  on  that  slippery  slope, 
Amid  the  cheers  of  Christendom  ! 


HIGH  TIDE  AT  GETTYSBURG  271 

God  lives  !     He  forged  the  iron  will, 

That  clutched  and  held  that  trembling  hill  ! 

God  lives  and  reigns  !     He  built  and  lent 

The  heights  for  Freedom's  battlement, 
Where  floats  her  flag  in  triumph  still  ! 

Fold  up  the  banner  !     Smelt  the  guns  ! 
Love  rules.     Her  gentler  purpose  runs. 

A  mighty  mother  turns  in  tears, 

The  pages  of  her  battle  years, 
Lamenting  all  her  fallen  sons  ! 


LVI 

John  Burns  of  Gettysburg 

More  than  160,000  men  fought  in  the  three  days' 
battle  of  Gettysburg,  and  among  them  was  John  Burns, 
an  old  veteran  of  the  War  of  181 2  and  the  Mexican  War, 
who  had  volunteered  for  service  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
Civil  War,  but  had  been  rejected  on  account  of  his  age. 
He  was  seventy  years  old  in  1863. 

John  Burns  had  volunteered  among  the  first  in  the 
War  of  18 1 2,  and  had  fought  at  the  battles  of  Platts- 
burg,  Queenstown,  and  Lundy's  Lane.  He  served 
through  the  Mexican  campaign,  and  when  he  volun- 
teered in  1 86 1,  had  been  told  that  he  was  too  old,  but 
was  given  work  as  a  teamster.  Finally  he  was  sent 
back  to  his  home  at  Gettysburg,  where  his  neighbors 
made  him  the  town  constable.  But  his  heart  was  set 
on  fighting  for  the  Union,  and  when  the  Confederates 
came  to  Gettysburg  late  in  June,  1863,  he  made  so 
much  trouble  for  them  that  he  was  put  under  restraint. 
When  the  Confederates  left  the  town  he  tried  to  arrest 
stragglers  from  their  army  by  virtue  of  his  office  of 
constable. 

When  the  actual  fighting  began  on  July  ist  John 
Burns  could  not  keep  away  from  the  battle.  He 
borrowed  a  rifle  and  ammunition  from  a  wounded 
Union   soldier,  and,  marching  to  headquarters,  volun- 


JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG  7.^1 

teered  for  service.  The  Colonel  of  the  Seventh  Wis- 
consin Regiment  gave  him  a  long-range  rifle,  and  he 
took  up  a  position  on  a  height  from  which  he  did 
sharpshooting  with  deadly  effect  during  that  day. 

When  the  Union  forces  were  driven  back  at  sunset 
Burns  was  badly  wounded  and  was  finally  captured  by 
the  enemy.  He  had  a  narrow  escape  from  being 
hanged  as  a  combatant  in  civilian's  clothes.  After 
the  battle  he  was  released,  and  returned  to  his  home, 
where  thousands  of  visitors  came  to  see  him  later  to 
hear  his  account  of  the  great  struggle. 

Bret  Harte  took  the  incidents  of  John  Burns'  part  in 
the  battle,  and  made  a  stirring  poem  of  the  old  man's 
unquenchable  patriotism. 


JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG 
By  Bret  Harte 

Have  you  heard  the  story  that  gossips  tell 

Of  Burns  of  Gettysburg  ? — No  ?     Ah,  well : 

Brief  is  the  glory  that  hero  earns, 

Briefer  the  story  of  poor  John  Burns : 

He  was  the  fellow  who  won  renown, — 

The  only  man  who  didn't  back  down 

When  the  rebels  rode  through  his  native  town  ; 

But  held  his  own  in  the  fight  next  day, 

When  all  his  townsfolk  ran  away. 

That  was  in  July,  Sixty-three, 

The  very  day  that  General  Lee, 

Flower  of  Southern  chivalry, 

Baffled  and  beaten,  backward  reeled 

From  a  stubborn  Meade  and  a  barren  field. 


274  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

I  might  tell  how  but  the  day  before 
John  Burns  stood  at  his  cottage  door, 
Looking  down  the  village  street, 
"Where,  in  the  shade  of  his  peaceful  vine, 
He  heard  the  low  of  his  gathered  kine, 
And  felt  their  breath  with  incense  sweet ; 
Or  I  might  say,  when  the  sunset  burned 
The  old  farm  gable,  he  thought  it  turned 
The  milk  that  fell  like  a  babbling  flood 
Into  the  milk-pail  red  as  blood  ! 
Or  how  he  fancied  the  hum  of  bees 
Were  bullets  buzzing  among  the  trees. 
But  all  such  fanciful  thoughts  as  these 
Were  strange  to  a  practical  man  like  Burns, 
Who  minded  only  his  own  concerns. 
Troubled  no  more  by  fancies  fine 
Than  one  of  his  calm-eyed,  long-tailed,  kine,- 
Quite  old-fashioned  and  matter-of-fact, 
Slow  to  argue,  but  quick  to  act. 
That  was  the  reason,  as  some  folks  say. 
He  fought  so  well  on  that  terrible  day. 

And  it  was  terrible.     On  the  right 
Raged  for  hours  the  heady  fight, 
Thundered  the  battery's  double  bass,— 
Difficult  music  for  men  to  face  ; 
While  on  the  left— where  now  the  graves 
Undulate  like  the  living  waves 
That  all  that  day  unceasing  swept 
Up  to  the  pits  the  Rebels  kept — 
Round  shot  ploughed  the  upland  glades, 
Sown  with  bullets,  reaped  with  blades ; 
Shattered  fences  here  and  there 
Tossed  their  splinters  in  the  air  ; 
The  very  trees  were  stripped  and  bare; 


JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG  275 

The  barns  that  once  held  yellow  grain 
Were  heaped  with  harvests  of  the  slain  ; 
The  cattle  bellowed  on  the  plain, 
The  turkeys  screamed  with  might  and  main, 
And  brooding  barn-fowl  left  their  rest 
With  strange  shells  bursting  in  each  nest. 

Just  where  the  tide  of  battle  turns, 

Erect  and  lonely  stood  old  John  Burns. 

How  do  you  think  the  man  was  dressed  ? 

He  wore  an  ancient  long  buff  vest, 

Yellow  as  saffron, — but  his  best ; 

And,  buttoned  over  his  manly  breast. 

Was  a  bright  blue  coat,  with  a  rolling  collar, 

And  large  gilt  buttons, — size  of  a  dollar, — 

With  tails  that  the  country-folk  called  "  swaller." 

He  wore  a  broad- brimmed,  bell-crowned  hat, 

White  as  the  locks  on  which  it  sat. 

Never  had  such  a  sight  been  seen 

For  forty  years  on  the  village  green. 

Since  old  John  Burns  was  a  country  beau, 

And  went  to  the  "  quiltings  "  long  ago. 

Close  at  his  elbows  all  that  day. 

Veterans  of  the  Peninsula, 

Sunburnt  and  bearded,  charged  away; 

And  striplings,  downy  of  lip  and  chin, — 

Clerks  that  the  Home  Guard  mustered  in, — 

Glanced,  as  they  passed,  at  the  hat  he  wore. 

Then  at  the  rifle  his  right  hand  l)ore  ; 

And  hailed  him,  from  out  their  youthful  lore. 

With  scraps  of  a  slangy  repertoire  : 

"How  are  you.  White  Hat?"    "Put  her  through!" 

"Your  head's  level!  "  and  "Bully  for  you  I  " 


2/6  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Called  him  "Daddy," — begged  he'd  disclose 
The  name  of  the  tailor  who  made  his  clothes, 
And  what  was  the  value  he  set  on  those ; 
While  Burns,  unmindful  of  jeer  and  scoff. 
Stood  there  picking  the  rebels  off, — 
With  his  long  brown  rifle  and  bell-crown  hat, 
And  the  swallow-tails  they  were  laughing  at. 

'Twas  but  a  moment,  for  that  respect 

Which  clothes  all  courage  their  voices  checked ; 

And  something  the  wildest  could  understand 

Spake  in  the  old  man's  strong  right  hand. 

And  his  corded  throat,  and  the  lurking  frown 

Of  his  eyebrows  under  his  old  bell-crown ; 

Until,  as  they  gazed,  there  crept  an  awe 

Through  the  ranks  in  whispers,  and  some  men  saw. 

In  the  antique  vestments  and  long  white  hair. 

The  Past  of  the  Nation  in  battle  there ; 

And  some  of  the  soldiers  since  declare 

That  the  gleam  of  his  old  white  hat  afar. 

Like  the  crested  plume  of  the  brave  Navarre, 

That  day  was  their  oriflamme  of  war. 

So  raged  the  battle.     You  know  the  rest : 
How  the  rebels,  beaten  and  backward  pressed, 
Broke  at  the  final  charge,  and  ran. 
At  which  John  Burns — a  practical  man — 
Shouldered  his  rifle,  unbent  his  brows. 
And  then  went  back  to  his  bees  and  cows. 

That  is  the  story  of  old  John  Burns ; 
This  is  the  moral  the  reader  learns : 
In  fighting  the  battle,  the  question's  whether 
You'll  show  a  hat  that's  white,  or  a  feather  ! 


LVII 

Sheridan's  Ride 

At  the  end  of  the  summer  of  1864  the  Confederate 
cavalry  were  pushing  north  into  Pennsylvania,  making 
for  the  Susquehanna  River.  They  sacked  the  town  of 
Chambersburg,  and  threw  the  neighboring  country  into 
panic.  General  Grant  at  once  sent  a  large  force  to 
head  off  this  invasion,  and  placed  General  Philip  Henry 
Sheridan  in  command  of  it.  On  September  19,  1864, 
the  Confederate  General  Early  attacked  Sheridan's 
troops  at  Winchester.  Sheridan  defeated  Early  after 
repeated  charges  by  the  Union  cavalry,  and  sent  him 
retreating  down  the  Shenandoah  Valley. 

This  repulse  was  thought  to  have  checked  General 
Early,  and  a  little  later  Sheridan  went  to  Washington 
to  consult  with  the  Secretary  of  War.  During  his  ab- 
sence, on  October  i8th,  the  Confederates  secretly 
moved  a  large  force  against  the  Union  army  at  Cedar 
Creek,  and  the  following  morning  attacked  the  sleeping 
camp  in  front,  flank,  and  rear.  The  Federal  troops, 
taken  absolutely  by  surprise,  broke  and  fled.  Early 
drove  them  before  him,  and  appeared  to  be  winning  a 
great  victory.  But  Sheridan  was  returning  from  Wash- 
ington, and  had  reached  the  town  of  Winchester  when 
he  heard  the  sound  of  cannon.     He  instantly  put  spurs 


278  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

to  his  horse  and  dashed  towards  Cedar  Creek,  a  distance 
of  twenty  miles. 

As  the  general  came  up  to  his  retreating  men  he 
shouted,  "  Face  the  other  way,  boys ;  we're  going 
back !  "  The  soldiers  turned  and  followed  him,  and 
by  the  time  he  reached  the  battle-field  at  noon  the  re- 
treating army  was  turned  into  an  attacking  one. 
Cheering  for  Sheridan  the  soldiers  charged  and  com- 
pletely routed  Early's  army,  driving  them  back  again 
and  out  of  the  Valley.  Sheridan's  ride  won  a  great 
Union  victory,  and  in  recognition  of  it  President 
Lincoln  made  the  commander  a  major-general. 


SHERIDAN'S  RIDE 
By  Thomas  Buchanan  Read 

Up  from  the  South  at  break  of  day. 

Bringing  to  Winchester  fresh  dismay, 

The  affrighted  air  with  a  shudder  bore, 

Like  a  herald  in  haste,  to  the  chieftain's  door, 

The  terrible  grumble,  and  rumble,  and  roar. 

Telling  the  battle  was  on  once  more. 

And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

And  wider  still  those  billows  of  war 
Thundered  along  the  horizon's  bar; 
And  louder  yet  into  Winchester  rolled 
The  roar  of  that  red  sea  uncontrolled, 
Making  the  blood  of  the  listener  cold, 
As  he  thought  of  the  stake  in  that  fiery  fray. 
And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 


SHERIDAN'S  RIDE  279 

But  there  is  a  road  from  Winchester  town, 

A  good,  broad  highway  leading  down  ; 

And  there,  through  the  flush  of  the  morning  light, 

A  steed  as  black  as  the  steeds  of  night, 

Was  seen  to  pass,  as  with  eagle  flight. 

As  if  he  knew  the  terrible  need, 

He  stretched  away  with  his  utmost  speed ; 

Hills  rose  and  fell ;  but  his  heart  was  gay, 

With  Sheridan  fifteen  miles  away. 

Still  sprung  from  those  swift  hoofs,  thundering  south, 
The  dust,  like  smoke  from  the  cannon's  mouth  ; 
Or  the  trail  of  a  comet,  sweeping  faster  and  faster, 
Foreboding  to  traitors  the  doom  of  disaster. 
The  heart  of  the  steed,  and  the  heart  of  the  master 
Were  beating  like  prisoners  assaulting  their  walls. 
Impatient  to  be  where  the  battle-field  calls; 
Every  nerve  of  the  charger  was  strained  to  full  play 
With  Sheridan  only  ten  miles  away. 

Under  his  spurning  feet,  the  road 

Like  an  arrowy  Alpine  river  flowed. 

And  the  landscape  sped  away  behind 

Like  an  ocean  flying  before  the  wind, 

And  the  steed,  like  a  bark  fed  with  furnace  ire, 

Swept  on,  with  his  wild  eye  full  of  fire. 

But,  lo  !  he  is  nearing  his  heart's  desire  ; 

He  is  snuffing  the  smoke  of  the  roaring  fray. 

With  Sheridan  only  five  miles  away. 

The  first  that  the  general  saw  were  the  groups 
Of  stragglers,  and  then  the  retreating  troops  ; 
What  was  done?  what  to  do?  a  fjlance  told  him  both. 
Then  striking  his  spurs  with  a  terrible  oath. 


28o  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

He  dashed  down  the  line,  'mid  a  storm  of  huzzas, 

And  the  wave  of  retreat  checked  its  course  there,  because 

The  sight  of  the  master  compelled  it  to  pause. 

With  foam  and  with  dust  the  black  charger  was  gray; 

By  the  flash  of  his  eye,  and  his  red  nostril's  play, 

He  seemed  to  the  whole  great  army  to  say, 

'<  I  have  brought  you  Sheridan  all  the  way, 

From  Winchester  down,  to  save  the  day." 

Hurrah,  hurrah  for  Sheridan  ! 
Hurrah,  hurrah  for  horse  and  man  ! 
And  when  their  statues  are  placed  on  high. 
Under  the  dome  of  the  Union  sky, — 
The  American  soldiers'  Temple  of  Fame, 
There,  with  the  glorious  general's  name, 
Be  it  said,  in  letters  both  bold  and  bright : 
"  Here  is  the  steed  that  saved  the  day 
By  carrying  Sheridan  into  the  fight. 
From  Winchester,— twenty  miles  away  !  " 


LVIII 

Marching  Through  Georgia 

By  the  middle  of  the  fourth  year  of  the  Civil  War,  in 
1864,  the  Union  forces  had  grown  far  superior  to  the 
Confederates  in  numbers  and  resources.  The  Northern 
armies  numbered  eight  hundred  thousand  men,  while 
the  Southern  had  barely  half  that  many.  The  Con- 
federates were  therefore  largely  compelled  to  keep  on 
the  defensive. 

It  was  thought  that  the  Federal  army  could  now 
crush  the  Confederates  by  one  great  effort.  General 
Ulysses  S.  Grant  had  shown  himself  the  most  success- 
ful commander  on  the  Northern  side,  and  he  was  made 
lieutenant-general  and  given  entire  direction  of  the 
campaign.  He  decided  to  march  towards  Richmond, 
and  ordered  General  William  Tecumseh  Sherman  to 
take  Atlanta. 

Sherman  had  an  army  of  veterans,  and  advanced 
rapidly  south.  By  the  middle  of  July,  1864,  he  was  in 
front  of  Atlanta.  The  Confederates  tried  to  break 
through  his  lines,  but  were  thrown  back.  On  July  226. 
Sherman  ordered  an  attack  on  the  city,  and  the  fight- 
ing lasted  for  two  days,  with  both  armies  losing  many 
men.  The  Union  troops  could  not  take  Atlanta  by 
assault,    and   so   settled    down    to   tire   out   the    Con- 


282  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

federates.  For  almost  a  month  daily  skirmishes  fol- 
lowed, and  on  September  2d,  the  Southern  armies 
evacuated  the  city. 

When  he  had  possession  of  Atlanta  Sherman  de- 
cided on  a  manceuvre  which  was  to  have  a  great  effect 
on  the  war.  He  planned  to  destroy  Atlanta,  and  march 
through  the  state  of  Georgia,  capturing  one  or  more 
of  the  large  seaport  cities.  He  burned  Atlanta,  and 
set  his  army  on  march  for  Savannah  on  November  16, 
1864. 

This  was  the  famous  "  march  to  the  sea,"  which 
divided  the  Confederate  country  and  despoiled  the 
homes  and  farms  of  Georgia.  The  army  left  a  track 
of  ruin  forty  miles  in  width.  Sherman  had  determined 
to  do  his  utmost  to  end  the  war,  and  he  considered 
this  method  a  necessary  evil.  The  South  was  alarmed. 
The  Confederate  General  Beauregard  tried  to  check 
Sherman's  army,  but  that  veteran  army  overcame  all 
opposition,  and  on  December  22,  1864,  marched  into 
Savannah,  which  the  Confederates  had  abandoned. 
Sherman  telegraphed  to  President  Lincoln,  "  I  beg  to 
present  to  you,  as  a  Christmas  gift,  the  city  of  Savan- 
nah." 

Sherman's  army  had  marched  two  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  from  Atlanta  to  the  sea.  January  15,  1865,  they 
started  north  into  South  Carolina,  and  soon  had  added 
the  cities  of  Columbia  and  Charleston  to  their  captures. 
Meantime  Grant  was  gradually  overcoming  Lee's  army 
in  Virginia,  and  the  war  was  soon  brought  to  a  close. 
Sherman's  march  through  Georgia  had  contributed 
greatly  to  the  speedy  end  of  the  conflict. 


MARCHING  THROUGH  GEORGIA  283 

The  song  "Marching  Through  Georgia"  became 
one  of  the  most  popular  of  the  Union  songs  of  the  war. 
Wherever  Sherman's  veterans  gathered  that  song  was 
sure  to  be  heard. 


MARCHING  THROUGH  GEORGIA 
By  Henry  Clay  Work 

Bring  the  good  old  bugle,  boys,  we'll  sing  another  song — 
Sing  it  with  a  spirit  that  will  start  the  world  along — 
Sing  it  as  we  used  to  sing  it  fifty  thousand  strong. 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

Chorus 
"  Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !   we  bring  the  jubilee  ! 

Hurrah  !   Hurrah  !  the  flag  that  makes  you  free  !  " 
So  we  sang  the  chorus  from  Atlanta  to  the  sea, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

How  the  darkeys  shouted  when  they  heard  the  joyful  sound  I 
How  the  turkeys  gobbled  which  our  commissary  found  ! 
How  the  sweet  potatoes  even  started  from  the  ground, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia, 

Yes,  and  there  were  Union  men  who  wept  with  joyful  tears. 
When  they  saw  the  honored  flag  they  had  not  seen  for  years ; 
Hardly  could  they  be  restrained  from  breaking  forth  in  cheers 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

"  Sherman's  dashing  Yankee  boys  will  never  reach  the  coast  I  " 
So  the  saucy  rebels  said — and  'twas  a  handsome  boast, 
Had  they  not  forgot,  alas  !  to  reckon  on  a  host. 

While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 


284  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

So  we  made  a  thoroughfare  for  Freedom  and  her  train, 
Sixty  miles  in  latitude — three  hundred  to  the  main  ; 
Treason  fled  before  us,  for  resistance  was  in  vain, 

While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 


LIX 

O  Captain  !      My  Captain  ! 

On  April  9,  1865,  General  Lee  surrendered  the  Army 
of  Northern  Virginia  to  General  Grant  at  Appomattox 
Court  House  in  Virginia,  and  practically  brought  the 
Civil  War  to  an  end.  Five  days  later,  on  April  14, 
1865,  President  Lincoln  was  shot  in  a  theatre  in  Wash- 
ington, and  died  the  next  day.  His  assassination  was 
part  of  a  conspiracy,  the  intention  being  to  kill  the 
President  and  several  of  the  leading  members  of  his 
Cabinet ;  and  Secretary  of  State  Seward  was  wounded 
on  the  same  evening,  but  not  seriously.  The  rejoic- 
ing at  the  conclusion  of  the  long  war  was  at  once  over- 
shadowed by  the  death  of  the  great  man  who  had 
overcome  such  tremendous  difficulties  and  saved  the 
Union.  In  the  space  of  his  term  as  President  Abraham 
Lincoln  had  won  the  loyal  devotion  of  almost  all  of  his 
fellow  citizens,  and  the  tragedy  of  his  assassination 
made  them  realize  suddenly  how  much  they  had 
trusted  to  his  wise  judgment  to  heal  the  wounds  of 
war.  The  nation  mourned  for  Lincoln  as  for  no  one 
else.  The  greatness  of  his  patriotism  had  been  under- 
stood bv  all. 

Walt  Whitman's  poem  was  one  of  the  finest  ex- 
pressions of  the  common   sorrow  at  the  loss  of  a  cap- 


286  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

tain  who  had  brought  his  ship  at  last  to  port,  only  to 
fall  on  the  deck  at  the  moment  of  victory. 


O  CAPTAIN  !     MY  CAPTAIN  I 
By  Walt  Whitman 

O  Captain  !  my  Captain  !  our  fearful  trip  is  done  ; 
The  ship  has  weather'd  every  rack,  the  prize  we  sought  is  won ; 
The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  exulting, 
While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  grim  and  daring  : 
But  O  heart  !  heart  !  heart ! 
O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red, 

Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead  I 

O  Captain  !  my  Captain  !  rise  up  and  hear  the  bells  ; 

Rise  up — for  you  the  flag  is  flung — for  you  the  bugle  trills ; 

For  you   bouquets   and   ribbon'd   wreaths — for   you   the   shores 

a-crowding  ; 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces  turning ; 
Here,  Captain  !  dear  father  ! 
This  arm  beneath  your  head  ; 

It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck 
You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 

My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale  and  still ; 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse  nor  will : 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage  closed  and  done; 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  ship,  comes  in  with  object  won  : 
Exult,  O  shores,  and  ring,  O  bells  ! 
But  I,  with  mournful  tread. 

Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 


LX 

Saxon  Grit 

Robert  Collyer,  the  author  of  this  poem,  read  it 
at  the  New  England  dinner  on  December  22,  1879, 
given  in  commemoration  of  the  Landing  of  the  Pil- 
grims. It  tells  of  the  strength  of  the  Saxon  race,  and 
traces  the  ancestry  of  Brother  Jonathan  in  America 
back  through  the  stirring  history  of  England. 

First  was  Harold,  the  last  Saxon  king  in  England. 
He  succeeded  Edward  the  Confessor  on  the  throne  in 
1066,  but  William,  Duke  of  Normandy,  disputed  his 
claim,  and  invaded  England  with  a  great  army  in 
September  of  that  year.  Harold  was  in  the  north, 
fighting  invaders  from  Norway.  He  won  the  batde  of 
Stamford  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire,  and  turned  south  to 
meet  William.  At  the  battle  of  Hastings  the  English 
army  was  overwhelmingly  defeated,  and  Harold  killed. 
William  the  Conqueror  became  king,  and  united  the 
Norman  race  with  the  Saxon. 

Later  came  Robin  Hood,  the  native  oudaw  hero,  who 
lived  in  Sherwood  Forest,  and  with  his  band  of  merry 
men  made  war  on  proud  Norman  nobles  who  came 
his  way.  He  is  supposed  to  have  lived  in  the  twelfth 
century,  and  was  as  friendly  to  the  poor  and  oppressed 
as  he  was  hostile  to  the  rich  and  powerful. 

Afterwards    Ket,    the   tanner,   and   Wat   Tyler,  the 


288  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

smith,  both  Saxons,  led  revolts  against  tyranny.  Wat 
marched  on  London  in  1381,  when  Richard  II  was 
king,  and  although  his  revolt  failed  at  the  time,  it 
helped  to  improve  the  lot  of  the  English  peasants. 
Ket's  rising  came  much  later,  in  the  days  when  Henry 
VIII  reigned. 

So  the  Saxon  iight  for  liberty  went  on  through  the 
ages,  and  Saxon  grit  led  the  Pilgrims  to  cross  the  sea 
and  make  a  new  home  for  freedom  in  the  western 
world.  Thus  it  is  that  "  Brother  Jonathan,"  the  son 
of  old  "John  Bull,"  has  much  the  same  qualities  to-day 
that  belonged  to  Harold,  and  Robin  Hood,  Ket  and 
Wat,  and  all  the  Saxon  blood. 


SAXON  GRIT 
By  Robert  Collyer 

Worn  with  the  battle,  by  Stamford  town. 

Fighting  the  Norman,  by  Hastings  bay, 

Harold,  the  Saxon's,  sun  went  down. 

While  the  acorns  were  falling  one  autumn  day. 

Then  the  Norman  said,  "1  am  lord  of  the  land  : 

By  tenor  of  conquest  here  I  sit ; 

I  will  rule  you  now  with  the  iron  hand  ;  " 

But  he  had  not  thought  of  the  Saxon  grit. 

K.  *  *  *  *  * 

To  the  merry  green-wood  went  bold  Robin  Hood, 
With  his  strong-hearted  yeomanry  ripe  for  the  fray. 
Driving  the  arrow  into  the  marrow 
Of  all  the  proud  Normans  who  came  in  his  way  j 


SAXON  GRIT  289 

Scorning  the  fetter,  fearless  and  free, 
Winning  by  valor,  or  foiling  by  wit, 
Dear  to  our  Saxon  folk  ever  is  he, 
This  merry  old  rogue  with  the  Saxon  grit. 

And  Ket,  the  tanner,  whipped  out  his  knife, 
And  Wat,  the  smith,  his  hammer  brought  down, 
For  ruth  of  the  maid  he  loved  better  than  life. 
And  by  breaking  a  head,  made  a  hole  in  the  Crown. 
From  the  Saxon  heart  rose  a  mighty  roar, 
"  Our  life  shall  not  be  by  the  King's  permit ; 
We  will  fight  for  the  right,  we  want  no  more ;  " 
Then  the  Norman  found  out  the  Saxon  grit. 

For  slow  and  sure  as  the  oak  had  grown 

From  the  acorns  falling  that  autumn  day, 

So  the  Saxon  manhood  in  thorpe  and  town 

To  a  nobler  stature  grew  alway  ; 

Winning  by  inches,  holding  by  clinches. 

Standing  by  law  and  the  human  right. 

Many  times  failing,  never  once  quailing, 

So  the  new  day  came  out  of  the  night. 

***** 

Then  rising  afar  in  the  western  sea, 

A  new  world  stood  in  the  morn  of  the  day, 

Ready  to  welcome  the  brave  and  the  free, 

Who  could  wrench  out  the  heart  and  march  away 

From  the  narrow,  contracted,  dear  old  land. 

Where  the  poor  are  held  by  a  cruel  bit. 

To  ampler  spaces  for  heart  and  hand — 

And  here  was  a  chance  for  the  Saxon  grit. 

Steadily  steering,  eagerly  peering. 
Trusting  in  God  your  fathers  came, 
Pilgrims  and  strangers,  fronting  all  dangers. 
Cool-headed  Saxons  with  hearts  aflame. 


290  HISTORIC  POEMS  AND  BALLADS 

Bound  by  the  letter,  but  free  from  the  fetter, 
And  hiding  their  freedom  in  Holy  Writ, 
They  gave  Deuteronomy  hints  in  economy, 
And  made  a  new  Moses  of  Saxon  grit. 

They  whittled  and  waded  through  forest  and  fen, 

Fearless  as  ever  of  what  might  befall ; 

Pouring  out  life  for  the  nurture  of  men ; 

In  faith  that  by  manhood  the  world  wins  all. 

Inventing  baked  beans  and  no  end  of  machines  ; 

Great  with  the  rifle,  and  great  with  the  axe — 

Sending  their  notions  over  the  oceans, 

To  fill  empty  stomachs  and  straighten  bent  backs. 

Swift  to  take  chances  that  end  in  the  dollar, 
Yet  open  of  hand  when  the  dollar  is  made. 
Maintaining  the  "meetin',"  exalting  the  scholar, 
But  a  little  too  anxious  about  a  good  trade ; 
This  is  young  Jonathan,  son  of  old  John, 
Positive,  peaceable,  firm  in  the  right, 
Saxon  men  all  of  us,  may  we  be  one, 
Steady  for  freedom  and  strong  in  her  might. 

Then,  slow  and  sure,  as  the  oaks  have  grown 
From  the  acorns  that  fell  on  that  autumn  day, 
So  this  new  manhood  in  city  and  town. 
To  a  nobler  stature  will  grow  alway  ; 
Winning  by  inches,  holding  by  clinches, 
Slow  to  contention,  and  slower  to  quit, 
Now  and  then  failing,  never  once  quailing, 
Let  us  thank  God  for  the  Saxon  grit. 


Glossary 


Adamantine  :  something  which  cannot  be  broken. 

Augurs :  soothsayers. 

Barb :  a  horse  noted  for  spirited  action. 

Bent,  on  the  bent  :  on  the  ground. 

Berserk  :  a  warrior  or  champion  of  Scandinavia. 

Brake  :  a  fern,  and  a  place  overgrown  with  bushes. 

Bravo  :  a  ruffian. 

Burgess  :  a  citizen  with  the  right  to  vote. 

Burgher :  a  citizen. 

Cannonier  :  one  in  charge  of  a  cannon. 

Carline  :  an  old  woman. 

Catch  :  a  rollicking  song. 

Champaign  :  open  country. 

Claymore  :  a  two-handed  Scotch  sword. 

Cloth-yard  :  a  yard-stick  to  measure  cloth. 

Cohorts  :  a  body  of  troops. 

Contemners  :  those  who  show  contempt. 

Cormorant :  a  bird  of  the  sea. 

Cornet :  the  flag  of  a  troop  of  cavalry. 

Corsair :  a  sea-pirate. 

Co^vl :   a  monk's  hood. 

Cowthie  :   kindly. 

Cuirasse  :  a  piece  of  armor  to  protect  the  body. 

Culverin  :  a  type  of  cannon. 

Deuteronomy  :  a  book  of  the  Bible,  which  contains  the  second 

giving  of  the  law  by  Moses. 
Devildoms  :  acts  of  the  Devil. 
Disembogue  :   to  empty  into. 


292  GLOSSARY 

Don  :  a  nickname  for  a  Spaniard. 

Dun :  dark. 

Duniewassal :  a  Highland  chief. 

"  Erin,  slanthagal  go  bragh  " :  an  Irish  watchword,  "  May  Ire- 
land flourish  forever  !  " 

Fallo^v  deer  :  pale  red  or  yellow  deer. 

Fen  :  marshland. 

Fleur  de  lis  :  the  lily  that  was  the  emblem  of  France. 

Fold  :  an  enclosure  for  sheep. 

Fustian  :  a  coarse  twilled  cotton  stuff. 

Galleon  :  a  large  vessel. 

Galliard  :  a  lively  dance. 

Gentile  :  the  heathen,  those  who  did  not  worship  the  god  of  the 
Jews. 

Gerfalcon  :  a  species  of  falcon. 

Gullie  :  a  large  knife. 

Hale :  to  draw. 

Harpy  :  a  fabulous  monster  of  prey. 

Hart :  a  buck. 

Hinds:  peasants. 

Hireling :  one  who  is  hired. 

I  ween  :   I  think  or  imagine. 

I  wis  :  certainly. 

Impearled  :  set  in  pearls. 

"  In  forma  pauperis  "  :  as  a  poor  man. 

Inquisition  :  a  Roman  Catholic  tribunal  for  punishing  heresy. 

Kine:  cattle. 

Kraken  :  a  sea-monster. 

Lauw^ine :  an  avalanche. 

Lea :  a  meadow. 

Leige :  lord. 

Leman  :  a  wanton  woman. 

Leviathan :  a  sea-monster. 

Lode :  blows. 

Lucumo :  the  Etruscan  name  for  a  chief. 


GLOSSARY  293 

Mall :   a  public  walk. 

Marrow  :  a  companion. 

May  :  the  flower  of  the  hawthorn. 

Musqueteer :  a  man  armed  with  a  musket. 

Must :   the  juice  of  grapes  for  wine. 

Oriflamme  :  the  royal  banner  of  France. 

Philabeg :  a  kilt,  or  skirt  reaching  to  the  knees,  worn  by 
Scotchmen. 

Pike :  a  weapon  like  a  spear. 

Pinnace  :  a  small  sailing-vessel. 

Pique :  the  point  of  a  saddle. 

Pistole  :  a  gold  coin. 

Pleugh  :  Scotch  for  plow. 

Port :  bearing,  manner. 

Pow  :   head. 

Provost :  the  mayor  of  a  Scotch  city  or  town. 

Quarry  :  a  pile  of  dead  game. 

Rack  :  storm. 

Rampired :  fortified. 

Redoubted :  valiant. 

Ronde  :  a  stately  French  dance. 

Ruth  :   pity. 

Saga  :  a  Scandinavian  legend. 

Sapper :  a  soldier  who  digs  mines. 

Scaur :  a  steep  place. 

Sea-mew :  a  gull. 

Ships  of  the  line  :  menof-war  large  enough  for  a  line  of  battle. 

"Sic  semper  :*'  "Sic  semper  tyrannis "  (thus  always  with  ty- 
rants) is  the  motto  of  the  State  of  Virginia. 

Skald  :  a  Scandinavian  poet  or  bard. 

Skoal  :   a  Scandinavian  exclamation  meaning  "  Hail  I  " 

Slee  :  sly. 

Slogan  :   a  war-cry. 

Southrons  :   Southerners. 

Tale  :    number  or  allotment. 


294  GLOSSARY 

Target :  a  shield. 

Thorpe  :   a  Saxon  word  for  a  number  of  farmhouses. 

Thumbscrew  :   an  instrument  of  torture. 

Tribune  :  an  officer  of  Rome. 

Truncheon  :  a  staff  of  office. 

Valhalla  :  the  Scandinavian  paradise. 

Vans  :   wings. 

Viking  :  a  sea  rover  or  pirate  of  the  Norsemen. 

Wassail-bout :   a  drinking  contest. 

^Vauken  :  Scotch  for  waken. 

"Were-wolf :  a  legendary  animal  much  like  a  wolf. 

Whig :    often   used   for   those  who   sided  with  William    III   of 

England. 
Whigamore  :  a  contemptuous  term  for  a  Whig  in  politics. 
Wode :  furious. 


References  to  Names 

Albinia  :  a  river  of  Etruria. 

Algidus  :  a  mountain-range  south  of  Rome. 

Alsatia :  one   of  the   low  sections   of  London   in   the  time  of 

Charles  I. 
Apennine  :  a  mountain  range  of  Italy. 
Ashur :  Assyria. 
Auser  :  a  river  of  Etruria. 
Baal :  a  heathen  god  of  the  Assyrians. 

Baltic  :  a  sea  of  northern  Europe,  part  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
Baritarian  :  Jean   Lafitte,    a   freebooter,    had    headquarters  at 

Barataria,  in  Louisiana. 
Biscay':   a  bay  on  the  southwest  coast  of  France. 
Blue  Ridge  :  a  mountain  range  of  Virginia. 
Campania  :  a  district  south  of  Rome. 
Carillon  :  a  set  of  bells  playing  a  melody,  a  name  given  to  Ti- 

conderoga. 
Chickamauga  :  a  river  near  Chattanooga,  Tennessee,  where  a 

battle  of  the  Civil  War  was  fought,  September  19  and  20, 

1863. 
Ciminian  Hill :  a  hill  in  Etruria. 
Clanis  :  a  river  of  Etruria. 
Clitumnus  :  a  river  of  Umbria. 
Comitium  :  a  part  of  the  Roman  Forum. 
Cortona  :  a  city  of  Etruria. 
Cosa  :   a  town  of  Etruria. 
Cossack  :  a  race  inhabiting  Southern  Russia. 
Croisickese  :   a  native  of  La  Croisic  in  Brittany. 
Crustumerium  :   a  town  in  the  Sabine  country. 
Elsinore  :  a  Danish  town,  north  of  Copenhagen,  where  the  battle 

of  the  Baltic  was  fought. 


296  REFERENCES  TO  NAMES 

Falerii:  a  town  of  Etruria. 

Forth  :  an  arm  of  the  sea  in  Scotland,  called  the  Firth  of  Forth. 

Galilee  :  the  sea  of  Galilee  in  Palestine. 

Hessian  :  a  native  of  Hesse  in  Germany.  Many  Hessians  fought 
for  England  as  mercenary  soldiers  in  the  American  Revolu- 
tion. 

Ilva :  an  island  off  the  Etruscan  coast,  the  modern  Elba. 

Janiculum  :  a  hill  west  of  Rome. 

Juno  :  a  Roman  goddess,  wife  of  Jupiter, 

Khamsin  :  a  hot  southeast  wind  in  Egypt. 

Lafayette :  a  French  nobleman  who  fought  for  the  Colonies  in 
the  American  Revolution. 

Lee  :  a  river  of  Ireland. 

Lorraine  :  a  province  of  eastern  France,  a  title  of  the  family  of 
Guise. 

Malouins  :  people  of  St.  Malo  in  Brittany. 

Mamilius  :  a  prince  of  Tusculum  in  Latium. 

Massilia  :  a  Greek  colony  in  Gaul,  the  modern  Marseilles. 

Middlesex  :  a  county  of  Massachusetts  near  Boston, 

Moslem  :  Mohammedans  or  Turks. 

Mystic :  a  river  that  flows  into  Massachusetts  Bay  at  Boston. 

McGregor  :  a  Highland  clan. 

Nar  :  a  river  of  Umbria. 

Nequinum  :  a  town  of  Umbria. 

Nurscia  :  probably  a  god  of  Clusium. 

Ostia  :  the  port  of  Rome. 

Palatinus  :  one  of  the  hills  of  Rome. 

Pentland :  the  Pentland  hills  in  Scotland. 

Pisae  :  a  city  of  Etruria,  the  modern  Pisa. 

Populonia  :  a  city  of  Etruria. 

Ramnian  :  one  of  the  three  ruling  classes  of  early  Rome. 

Riou  :   a  captain  of  the  English  navy  at  the  battle  of  the  Baltic. 

Rochelle  :   La  Rochelle,  a  city  on  the  west  coast  of  France. 

Salamanca  :  a  city  of  Spain  near  which  the  English  defeated 
the  French  July  22,  1812. 


REFERENCES  TO  NAMES  297 

Santee  :  a  river  of  South  Carolina. 

Seville  :   a  city  of  southern  Spain. 

Shannon  :   a  river  of  Ireland. 

She-wolf's  litter  :  the  Romans,  whose  founders,  Romulus  and 
Remus,  were  said  to  have  been  suckled  by  a  she-wolf. 

Shiloh :  the  battle  of  Shiloh  Church,  or  Pittsburgh  Landing, 
Tennessee,  was  fought  April  6  and  7,  1862. 

Skaw  :  a  cape  at  the  point  of  Jutland  in  Denmark. 

Skippen  :   Philip,  a  major-general  of  the  Parliamentary  army. 

Solway  :  an  arm  of  the  Irish  Sea,  part  boundary  between  Eng- 
land and  Scotland. 

Sutrium  :  a  town  of  Etruria. 

Switzer  :  a  native  of  Switzerland. 

Tarpeian  Rock :  a  high  rock  in  Rome,  from  which  prisoners 
were  tlirown. 

Tarquin  :  the  family  of  the  early  kings  of  Rome. 

Teviotdale :  a  name  often  given  to  Roxburghshire  in  Scotland. 

Thrasymene  :  a  lake  of  Etruria. 

Tifernum  :  a  town  of  Umbria. 

Titian  :  one  of  the  three  1  uling  classes  of  early  Rome. 

Tweed :  a  river  that  forms  part  of  the  boundary  between  Eng- 
land and  Scotland. 

Umbro  :   a  river  of  Etruria. 

Urgo  :  an  island  off  the  Etruscan  coast. 

Vandal :  a  member  of  a  Germanic  race  which  captured  Rome 

in  455- 
Volaterrae  :   a  city  of  Etruria. 
Volscian  :   a  race  south  of  Rome. 
Volsinian  mere  :  a  lake  of  Etruria. 
Volsinium  :   a  city  of  Etruria. 
Wallace  :  a  Scotch  hero  of  the  thirteenth  century  in  the  wars 

with  England. 
Westport :  the  western  gate  of  Edinburgh. 
Whitehall :   the  palace  of  Charles  I  in  Lxjndon. 


i 


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